


Guilty by Association

by Elthadriel



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Anxiety, Bullying, Cats, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-20 15:16:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6013677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elthadriel/pseuds/Elthadriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian is used to being a pariah, knows all too well what it's like to be a man alone.  Skyhold is no exception, and when the others go afield with the Inquisitor, the stones halls pick up an altogether different kind of chill.</p><p>Also, he adopts some cats. At least they seem to like him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic is finally finished. Anyone who has spoken to me over the last couple months will have heard be whining about it constantly, but it is now finally done! I'll be posting a chapter a day until it's all up, and I really hope you all enjoy it. 
> 
> Also, [Dee](http://dichotomous-dragon.tumblr.com/), who was lovely enough to beta this for me, convinced me to post this as a chaptered fic rather than all at once, so please direct all complaints to her askbox.

Dorian was picking at his food from dinner, more as something to do than because of any actual interest. That didn’t mean that he was unaffected when his hand left the plate to reach for some notes and a cat took advantage of him lowering his defences. The large tortoise-shell cat darted across the floor, faster than any animal of its generous size had any right to, leapt up on to the table, grabbed the remaining chicken on Dorian’s plate and leapt back onto the floor and out of his reach, all in one smooth motion.

 

Dorian stared incredulously at the creature. It had retreated some distance away with its ill-gotten goods, but was still in sight, and was watching Dorian smugly as it ate its spoils.

 

“You could have simply asked,” Dorian said to it. The cat finished the chicken and licked its claws clean before climbing to its feet. It headed down the stairs with a flick of its tail. “No wonder it’s so fat,” Dorian muttered without heat, turning his attention back to his book. He wasn’t about to get angry at a cat for behaving like a cat, and, if he was being completely honest, it had been one of the least antagonistic interactions he had had that day.

 

When he got back to his room and found that someone had carved “Maleficar” onto his door, he tried not to take it to heart.

 

\---

 

The cat returned the next evening, but this time Dorian was keeping an eye out for it. It climbed up onto one of the bookshelves and watched him.  Dorian had the uncomfortable feeling that he was the prey here as much as his food. He kept one eye on the cat and slid his plate closer.

 

Still, the second he was distracted, this time by a particularly ludicrous claim about a particular Archon, the cat thumped onto the table and once again made off with some of his dinner.

 

“I didn’t want it anyway. Enjoy Ferelden’s lack of seasoning,” he yelled after it, ignoring the looks those still in the library sent his way. He was a little more offended this time, but only because he had been paying attention and the cat had still managed to get the better of him.

 

To add insult to injury, someone had also rearranged his books while he had been getting dinner. It had been an accident, he had been assured, but regardless Dorian had been forced to waste time undoing their work. It left him in a bad mood.

 

\---

 

He didn’t have any dinner for the cat to steal the next day, because he had worked through when the kitchens were severing food, and with Sera and Bull absent with the Inquisitor, he didn’t much fancy making an appearance in the tavern. He made too obvious target for the drunks when he was on his own.

 

The cat still appeared, and hissed at him upon finding nothing for it to eat, before promptly abandoning him.

 

Dorian’s stomach rumbled.

 

“You and me both,” he mumbled at the cat’s disappearing tail.

 

\---

 

It was a couple of days before the cat reappeared, and this time sometime past the second bell. It had seemly moved on other targets and it was coincidence that they crossed paths again.

 

Dorian was pleased that they had, he had been saving some of his food from his dinner each night, ready to feed the fluffy monster, because if the cat was going to steal his food anyway, he at least wanted credit. Also, apparently, he was a sucker.

 

He clicked his tongue to get the cat’s attention, comfortable that it was late enough that he was alone in the library, and held out a scrap of fish for it. The cat looked at him like he might be able to turn into a demon, not a response he was unused to, but it did approach. It sniffed his fingers wearily. Finally, after he had passed its test, it tugged the fish from his fingers, and again wandered out of reach. Dorian was sure he was reading too much into it that the cat didn’t retreat as far as normal.

 

\---

 

After a week of this, the cat apparently decided they were ready to take things to the next level. It took the food from Dorian’s plate when he nudged it towards the cat, and sat on the table to eat. Once he had returned his attention to the book, the cat padded up to him and head-butted his hand, letting out a deep, rumbling purr.

 

It hissed when Dorian tried to pet it, but when he stilled again it returned to scenting him. After a little while it curled up on the table next to him and went to sleep. It was, of course, lying on books he needed but he decided to cut it some slack; he had a bad day, and had welcomed the cat’s attention. Some of Cullen’s soldiers had spat at him as he passed them in the hall, not an uncommon occurrence, but these ones had had impressive distance and aim, one hitting his check, and the another his hair.  He had washed frantically at both, but he still left feeling a little dirty.

 

He smiled at the cat, making soft little snores beside him.

 

\---

 

Dorian was most definitely a sucker; the cat had brought a friend.

 

The new addition was black and long haired, smaller than the tortoise-shell both in general size but also slimmer. The new cat was also significantly friendlier, settling in his lap even before he could offer it food, and purring happily if he so much as rested a hand on it. This also seemed to spur the original cat into sucking up to him, seeming unwilling to have its human stolen. It let him pet it, and even scratch it under its chin.

 

He was going to have the give them names.

 

\---

 

He named the black cat Vitus. It was been almost embarrassingly easy to find out his gender as when Vitus was sitting on his lap he would let Dorian do almost anything to him; including turn the cat onto his back, and check between his legs. This also led to Dorian discovering Vitus was a big fan of gentle belly rubs.

 

Atia, had taken a little more skill and tilting his head awkwardly while she cleaned herself, and after she had looked at him with absolute disgust, as if she knew exactly what he had been doing. She had knocked a bottle of wine from the table and had wondered off while Dorian scrambled to tidy up the mess.

 

This was made harder as Vitus kept trying to drink it the wine from the floor and Dorian kept having to move him away.

 

After he had finally cleaned up as much of the spilt wine as he could Dorian was ready to call it a day. He made some quick notes about where he was in his research to help him start again quickly the next day, and headed back to his room.  Vitus trailed along behind him, and Dorian kept glancing back over his shoulder to see if the cat was still there.

 

He paused outside his room, and Vitus took the opportunity to start winding between his legs while Dorian tried to decide what to do next. He shouldn’t let the cat into his room, boundaries were important, but also, the idea of having company, even if it was just a mouser, was appealing.

 

He could at least give it a trial run.

 

Once in the room, he stripped off, and changed into a loose shirt and soft, cotton trousers. The room was cold, (the room was always cold), and he lit a fire in a futile attempt to warm it. He climbed into the bed, under the pile of blankets, some of which had been given to him by the Inquisition, and others he had bought with some of his pay. He settled back into his pile of pillows, gathered in a similar way, including one he had stolen from Bull.

 

Vitus made his way around the room, sniffing at things, and then rubbing up against them, and Dorian lay so he could watch him.

 

It didn’t take long before Vitus had explored the room enough to satisfy him, and leapt up onto the bed. He padded back and forth a little, stepping on Dorian with no concern for Dorian’s comfort, before deciding where he wanted to lie down. He settled just in front of Dorians’ face, and curled up. He rumbled softly, when Dorian placed his hand one Vitus’ back.

 

They fell asleep like that.

 

\---

 

Dorian had once had a lover who had an unusual obsession with his hair. Not that Dorian’s hair wasn’t a work of art and it deserved to be acknowledged, but this man had taken to weird degree. When he woke to something playing with the hair at the top of his forehead, his sleep addled brain’s first thought was “How on earth did Gaius get to Skyhold” before realising that was unlikely to be the cause.

 

He cracked open an eye.

 

Vitus was standing next to his head, one front paw on his shoulder, the other on the pillow. He was licking Dorian’s hair. He ran his small, rough tongue from Dorian’s scalp, up the loose strains of hair that had fallen across his forehead. Dorian didn’t know how to react to this, and allowed it to go on for another few seconds.

 

“Are you grooming me?” He asked. Vitus didn’t pause.

 

Dorian sighed and pushed Vitus away. Vitus looked at him with large eyes but made no other complaint. Dorian pushed himself up to he was sitting and lifted Vitus so he was on his lap. Dorian stroked his ears absently. It was pathetic, even to admit it to himself, but it was nice not to wake up alone, even if his only company was a cat.

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t have any friends here. He had Sera and Bull, both of who seemed to consider him their friend, and that was an impressive one more than he had had in Tevinter; defining friend in Tevinter as someone he didn’t expect to stab him in the back suddenly, and wasn’t more of a parental figure, like Mae or Alexius, and not just someone he pretended to like in public.

 

The problem with Bull and Sera was that they were part of the illustrious Inquisitor’s main team and he was not, meaning they would spend long periods of time away from Skyhold while he remained in the library. They were also drastically different from the people Dorian had interacted with before. The traitorous part of him kept finding reasons to doubt their sincerity; Sera was just lulling the evil, rich ‘vint into a false sense of security so she could better manipulate him when the time came, and Bull just wanted a consistent lay.  

 

There were a couple of other people around Skyhold he had passable interactions with, Cullen and Josephine for example, but both were far too busy for anything more.

 

Vitus leapt off his lap and went and sat expectantly by the door. With a groan, Dorian cut his moping short and stood to let him out.

 

\---

 

Dorian collected his breakfast and dropped into an empty bench in the corner of the mess hall. He didn’t eat much in the mornings, his stomach got unhappy when he ate too much too early, but he did manage to grab some hot water, and using some of his own supplies, turned it into coffee strong enough to kill a weaker man. He admittedly added a little milk and sugar, but the potency of the drink was still an impressive feat.

 

He read while he ate, but for pleasure rather than research. He had stumbled on a series of dramatized history of the Anderfels, which he was enjoying thoroughly. While he was sure reality had had far fewer murders and affairs, the author knew his history well enough to keep it all feeling authentic. Dorian was harbouring an unabashed crush on Cenric, and his history was patchy enough in that area to not know what his future held; in a perfect world he would realise that Helvela was just using him and leave her, but Dorian would settle for him surviving the whole ordeal.

 

He heard someone say “Vint” and he glanced up. He caught the eye of a one women who looked away quickly, before she and her group burst out laughing. Dorian stared down at his food, watching them out of the corner of his eye; they were defiantly talking about him. He reminded himself that he was a grown man and wasn’t going to let something like that bother him. He’d had worse.

 

In Haven, he had once caught some of the servants passing his food around to spit in it, and one imaginative young man had mixed in a little animal feed. With a glance at his plate Dorian pushed his food away from him, appetite gone.  He gathered his book and left for the library, leaving his bowl on the table. He should have put it away, and he knew people would note that he hadn’t, but he didn’t want to remain in that room any longer. One of the servants would get it.

 

He cursed aloud, halfway up the stairs from Solas’s rotunda to his own; it was exactly that sort of attitude that made everyone hate him in the first place. He hovered for a moment, considering returning, but he knew the moment had already passed.

 

Atia was sitting on his chair when he get there, and while she hissed at him when he lifted her off and placed her on the table, she forgave him after only a little sulking, coming back to settle near him.

 

By lunchtime Vitus had reappeared and was sitting on his lap.

 

\---

 

It was perfectly possible that Dorian was seeing things, but he was almost certain that there was a third cat.

 

Of course, there were actually numerous other cats around Skyhold, making an effort to keep the mouse population down, but there seemed to be another one hanging around him. After a little over two weeks of seeing it in the corner of his vision, he decided to try and check for certain.

 

He still fed Atia and Vitus in the evenings so he waited until the library was mostly empty before dividing up his leftovers, this time into three portions instead of two. Vitus ate happily from his fingers, not wanting to leave his lap, and Atia would eat anywhere the food was placed, so Dorian left the remaining chicken on the plate and nudged it to where he had last seen the shape with his foot. Atia hissed at him when he made it clear the food wasn’t for her.

 

She retaliated by joining Vitus on his lap, leaving it more than a little crowded.

 

Dorian had chosen an evening that he was planning to stay in the library late, so he was prepared to wait. It was a good thing too, because it took the cat hours to show up.

 

The tiny silver tabby crept out from behind one of the stacks, tensed to run at any moment, eyes fixed as Dorian as they slunk to the plate. The cat made it halfway through the plate before Dorian moved his foot and after a tense moment of eye contact, the cat was gone.

 

He named them Octave, which could be short for either Octavian or Octavia if he ever found out their gender.

 

\---

 

“I’m gone for six weeks and you turn into some crazy cat lady. You going to get yourself a knit shawl next?” Bull’s voice rumbled from the direction of the stairs. It was nice to hear a friendly voice and Dorian felt himself relax minutely.  He huffed and rolled his eyes at Bull. He did shoo Atia from his lap, though. She didn’t hiss at him but she didn’t look pleased.

 

“Hardly,” Dorian said. He crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s just one of the tower’s mousers, and she knows I’ll be here long enough to make a good seat.”

 

“I knew you were a softy.” Bull looked thrilled at the revelation. He was clean, which indicated he’d bathed before coming to see Dorian, which was nice of him Dorian supposed. It did mean there a slightly dampness clinging to Bull’s skin that Dorian certainly wasn’t going to complain about.

 

“Lies,” Dorian said, but he smiled slightly in response.

 

“There is going to be some celebrating the Inquisitor’s return in the tavern tonight, you going to make an appearance?”

 

Dorian looked between Bull and his work as if he was considering it; as if there was a chance he would turn down a chance at human interaction.

 

“I suppose this could wait an evening.”

 

Bull beamed like Dorian’s presence was important to him.

 

\---

 

“Sparkler!” Varric called from across the tavern. He was sitting near Bull, playing cards with some of the Chargers and Sera. “What’s special enough to drag you from your tower?”

 

“You think he’d miss an opportunity to ogle Bull’s boobies?” Sera asked, grinning at Dorian. She was already red-faced and giggly, and had probably started drinking earlier.

 

Dorian settled down in the empty seat next to Bull, and was easily dealt into the next hand.

 

“Well, certainly no one would want to stare at yours,” he shot back at the elf, “-lest they hurt their eyes squinting.”

 

“Oi!” She kicked him under the table, but not hard enough to actually hurt.

 

Sera ended up on Dorian’s other side later in the night as they helped each other cheat. The conversation was easy and natural, and Dorian almost forgot this was almost the first true human interaction he had had in weeks. When Skinner forgot his drink later in the night he tried to convince himself it was just bad luck.

 

\---

 

Spending time with a group of people who were at least pretending not to hate him was lovely, but it had nothing on this; Bull on top of him, around him, in him.

 

Bull’s hands head him tightly, strong enough that Dorian could push back against them with no risk of actually getting free. It was liberating to be allowed to fight, and then surrender without being judged for either.

 

Dorian arched up against Bull, endless bare skin against his, and for glorious while forgot there was anything outside of Bull’s bed.

 

\---

 

The best part about sleeping with Bull was that they talked after.

 

Well. That was perhaps not the _best_ part, but it was certainly a perk.

 

Dorian lounged on the bed, stretched out on his back. He was a little cold from the sweat drying on his skin, but Bull was trailing his fingers up Dorian’s thighs and over his hip, and Dorian would take the cold rather than get under the covers and risk losing that.

 

“How long will you be gracing us with your presence,” Dorian asked, when he mostly had his breath back.

 

“Not long, the Inquisitor wants to head out to the Exalted Plains in a week, we have some errands to run.” Dorian wished he knew how to interpret Bull’s expression.  Dorian tried not to let his disappointment show, but he doubted he managed to hide it from Bull. “I don’t suppose you’ll be needing a mage on this little outing? There are some Venatori in the area I wouldn’t be opposed to tracking down.”

 

“You’ve been beaten to it, Solas spoke to the Inquisitor almost the moment we were through the gate. Something about a friend that needs help.” Dorian wondered if the expression was pity.

 

“Right.” Dorian didn’t trust himself to say more.

 

“If it’s important, I’m sure the Inquisitor would consider changing up the roster.”

 

“No, it’s fine, I’m just getting a little stir crazy. I would not object to getting out of Skyhold for a while.” That was a much safer reason that admitting he wanted to travel with Bull and Sera.

 

“Next time the Chargers are sent out, I’m sure the Inquisitor would have no problem with you joining them. We can also use an extra mage.”

 

“Enough of this talk,” Dorian said. He didn’t want to explain that the Chargers made him feel like he was doing something wrong whenever he so much as opened his mouth. “I do believe you promised me orgasms, plural, and you have yet to deliver on that.”

 

Bull laughed and Dorian found himself flipped over onto his front, Bull’s tongue at his hole.

 

\---

 

They talked a little while Dorian redressed about nothing in particular, but it made Dorian feel a lot less like he was fleeing something.

 

Bull, as always, reminded Dorian he was welcome to stay the night; Dorian, as always, wanted to accept but declined anyway.

 

Bull did manage to convince Dorian allow himself to be dragged back into a long kiss before he made the trek across Skyhold to his own room. It always felt so much longer and colder, when he was leaving the warmth of Bull’s room.

 

Vitus and Atia were sitting near his door, and he gathered Vitus up into his arms, awkwardly unlocking the door while holding the cat. Vitus settled on his bed, as usual, while Atia climbed up to watch him from a high shelf. It was only after Dorian had climbed into bed himself, and was mostly asleep, that she leapt down and cuddled up next to him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks very much for the lovely feedback to the first chapter!
> 
> ALso, seriously, take a look at the tags, this fic has some dark content.

Someone had drawn in one of his books.

 

It was actually rather well drawn, but an incredibly unflattering, picture depicting Bull bending him over a table. The artist had even thought to add in some onomatopoeic words around them both, representing the noises they imagined Dorian might make. Or, maybe, they had passed by Bull’s room and didn’t have to imagine.

 

Dorian chest tightened.

 

It was not unusual for these pictures to appear whenever he spent an evening with Bull, but they still caused him more anxiety than most of the other types tormenting; he didn’t like people knowing who he was going to bed with.

 

He wanted to rip the page out, maybe burn it, but the artist had been fortunate enough to pick a page he needed to scrawl over. He kept finding himself staring at it, left sick to his stomach, while he tried to work.

 

He gave up by lunch, and spent the remainder of the day with Sera, which left him in a far better mood.

 

He decided to not sleep with Bull again.

 

The early morning found leaving Bull’s rooms anyway.

 

\---

 

Octave was getting braver.

 

They still fled at sharp movements and loud sounds, nor would they let Dorian touch them, but late in the evenings they would come and sit nearby, and that was a pleasant sort of companionship in and of itself.

 

They brought him presents sometimes, leaving dead birds or mice by his chair in the library or outside his bedroom door. It wasn’t the most pleasant thing to have to deal with but Dorian appreciated the thought.

 

For the week before Bull and left again, Dorian almost forgot how miserable he was.

 

\---

 

Dorian moped in the library for the entire day after the Inquisitor left, taking Bull, Sera, and Solas with them. The cats all made appearances throughout the day, but even Vitus tired of his mood and vanished later in the day.

 

He slept alone in his bed for the first time in a while. It was made worse that every night for the past week he had spent time in Bull’s rooms, and now the bed felt even colder than normal.

 

\---

 

Dorian woke the next day, swore that he was done brooding, (it wasn’t a good look on him anyway), and promised himself that he wasn’t going to spend another month sitting around waiting for Sera and Bull to come back. At lunchtime, he carefully got to a point where he could leave his work, and instead of grabbing food from the general halls, he went down to the tavern for lunch.

 

He bought a plate of greasy food, and looked around the tavern trying to decide where to sit. It felt painfully like when he was a child, attending a new circle and not knowing which table to sit at. At least then it had been a simple matter of identifying those whose parents mostly closely match his own in rank and sitting himself with them.

 

Varric might have been an option, only he was sitting with a group of scouts, telling them some wild story, and Dorian recognised some of the scouts as people who had spread rumours of him using blood magic to get himself into the Inquisition. Blackwall hardly put up with him when Sera wasn’t present. Maybe if he had travelled more with the Inquisitor he might have got a better opportunity to know the Inner Circle, but as it was, most of them were strangers, aside from Bull, who had made a conscious effort to get to know him, and Sera, who had accidently befriended him while hiding behind his chair after pranking Vivienne.

 

He spotted Dagna in the corner, alone, and almost let out an audible sigh. He had spoken with Dagna only in passing, but it would seem they had a lot of conversation topics. Before he could lose his nerve – and wasn’t that just hilarious; he could face demons without flinching, but talking to dwarf required him gathering his nerves – he crossed the tavern and dropped into the chair next to her.

 

“Don’t mind me,” he said, giving a dismissive wave of his hand before she could say anything, “I was just grabbing lunch, and I saw you, hoped we might talk about something you said the other day, about the memory crystals.”

 

Danga looked up, and smiled brightly for a second, before it slipped. “Ahh, Lord Pavus. I’d love to, but I’m in the middle of something time sensitive. I need to be back in the Undercroft in just a minute. Come down and talk to me some other time though!” And then she had gathered up her plate, dropped it on the bar, and vanished out of the door.

 

Dorian stared down at his plate, appetite totally gone, throat thick. He knew a dismissal when he heard one. He wondered how many times his parents had offered their peers empty invitations to the Pavus summer home as a way to politely escape conversation.

 

\---

 

He held himself together until he get back to his room, surprised to find that Octave was sitting at the door and slipped past him, sniffing at a robe he had abandoned on the floor and curling up there to take a nap.

 

Dorian tried to focus on them though he wished Vitus was there, so he could bury his face in his fur. When he started to cry, it came on suddenly. He was a pathetically ugly crier, and he hated himself for it. He hated himself more for being a thirty-year-old man who couldn’t take some people being mean to him, but he wasn’t exactly limiting the amount of things he hated himself for.

 

He curled onto his side, wrapping his arms around himself. Each sob jolted his shoulders. The tears covered his checks in moisture and kohl and he sniffed loudly to try and stop snot from covering his face, with only some success. Every time he tried to wipe at either he just made it worse.

 

He stripped off eventually, but couldn’t find it in him to find his sleeping clothes, so just curled up naked under his blankets. He slept in unease bursts, but at some point, Octave came up onto the bed, resting by his feet.

 

\---

 

Dorian didn’t leave his room for the next two days.

 

His head hurt from crying and he felt like he had been awake for a week. He had seen this coming of course, he always crashed after Bull and Sera left Skyhold again. Being alone felt so much worse after days of company. That had been the point of trying to connect with Dagna, to avoid this, but it had just made everything worse. The room started to smell when he didn’t empty his chamber pot, but he had a spell to deal with the worst of it, and the idea of being around people made him want to crawl under his bed and stay there.

 

He had done that once, or at least, he had hid in the bottom of his wardrobe for a day. He couldn’t remember what had made him want to hide in the first place, but he remembered vividly some of his nannies trying to coax him out with promises of treats, and threats of punishment before finally his father had been summoned.

 

His father had sent the nannies away, before climbing in opposite Dorian. Dorian had climbed into his lap and cried into his shoulder while his father hushed him, and stroked his hair. He had been young enough that he had been allowed to sleep in his father’s bed that night, something that had only been allowed when he had been extremely upset.

 

He got out of bed long enough to get the letter from his father, the one asking Mother Giselle to bring Dorian out to Redcliffe and cried again, holding it to his chest, his complicated feelings towards his father, now tangled up in his loneliness. That trip to Redcliffe had been the last time he had left Skyhold.

 

Octave stayed with him for the first day, though they must have been hungry. They still remained out of reach, but it was nice to not be alone. They only left when Vitus scratched on the door to be let in, and even then they came back, presumably after some hunting.

 

\---

 

He got hungry during the third day.

 

He had been hungry before that, but had been able to mostly ignore it, but by the third day his gut ached and his stomach was rumbling almost constantly. He curled slightly more around himself, wrapping his arms around his waist and tried to ignore it.

 

Occasionally he entertained the idea of getting up and fetching food, but the thought of leaving the room was still totally overwhelming. Maybe he if waited long enough someone would come and find out why he was missing. He could feign sickness and they might bring him food, and he would never have to leave his bed.

 

Alternatively, he might just waste away, starve to death and just remain in the room for weeks until someone finally noticed his absence.

 

Octave scratched to be let out again.

 

Dorian hauled himself out of bed, though standing made him feel a little dizzy, and opened the door a crack. Octave darted down the hall. Vitus followed them, but did a loop of Dorian’s legs first.

 

He felt like he had just got back into bed when he heard a soft yowling at the door. He must have been asleep if he hadn’t heard whichever cat it was scratching first. Again he stumbled over to the door and let the cat in.

 

Octave had a rabbit in their mouth.

 

The rabbit was almost as big as Octave, and they dropped it at Dorian’s feet, and let out a soft mew. Dorian stood motionless for a moment and Octave pawed at the rabbit. He bent down slowly, and picked up the body. It was still warm, and Dorian felt himself tearing up again. Octave, seeming content that Dorian had been fed, slipped from the room again.

 

Dorian sat on the bed, holding the rabbit, breathing deeply, before steadily pulling himself back together.

 

He washed himself out of a bowl in the corner, summoning ice to fill it, and then fire to warm it. He them pulled on a clean set of robes, did his hair and make-up, and gathered up his chamber pot and the rabbit.

 

He disposed of the waste and then went to the tavern. A soldier coming out of the door knocked his shoulder with their own, with almost enough force to send him to the ground, and walked off without looking back at him. He went in anyway, bought some food, and retreated up to Sera’s room to eat it; he wouldn’t be bothered there.

 

He felt better after he ate, he decided.

 

Cleaning himself up and a good meal had made a lot of difference. He was a Pavus, after all, as his father had been so fond of telling him, and he wasn’t going to let this get to him. The cats helped; they might not be people, but it was nice to know that he was being looked out for.

 

It was late afternoon, but there was still time to sort through his research, reacquaint himself with what he had been working on so he could pick it up tomorrow.

 

\---

 

Someone had sliced open his seat’s cushion and ripped out most of the stuffing.

 

He told himself it didn’t bother him, and was easily replaced, and sat down to work anyway. All three cats joined him as the evening went on, Vitus on his lap, Atia squeezed in next to him and Octave on the shelf behind him.

 

They followed him to his room, and he fell asleep with all three of them on his bed. He didn’t even mind when he had to get up only a few hours later to let Octave and Vitus out.

 

\---

 

Things settled down a little, and Dorian managed to take each day at time.

 

He got a letter from Mae, and read it over and over. He put off replying, if only so he could look forward to it, and when he did eventually reply he wrote a long letter in several drafts before passing it off to be sent. He wrote a letter to Felix after, telling him all the things he didn’t tell Mae, about how lonely he was, and all about the cats.

 

It ached to write, and he burned it after, having nowhere to send it, but it was nice to talk about it anyway.

 

He wrote several half-finished letters to his father, but he didn’t send any of them. He had told his father he would consider writing, and while he could use the additional interaction, he eventually decided it was too risky. He had no idea what a letter from his family might contain, and it could very well make things worse.

 

\---

 

Vitus got into a fight with another cat and showed up rather battered and bleeding. He mewed pathetically while Dorian did his best to patch him up,

 

“I expected this from Atia,” Dorian muttered while he worked, carefully dabbing at the dried blood. “But not from you.”

 

Atia batted cats around all the time, including Vitus, but claws generally stayed away, and most cats seemed put off from seriously fighting her because of her size. He didn’t know what Vitus had done to earn himself a beating.

 

“I hope the other cat looks worse than you, at least.” Dorian finished his amateur veterinary work and carefully moved Vitus to the bed. Vitus let out soft, pitiful yowls, and Dorian tried to ignore him, knowing he was doing it mostly for attention, but in the end he surrounded and set on the bed next to him, and petted him gently.

 

Vitus rumbled happily.

 

When Atia arrived, even she seemed sympathetic, curling around Vitus and grooming him.

 

Sometimes Dorian forgot that Atia had brought Vitus to him. He drifted off to sleep imagining what adventures his cats had got up to before he had met them.

 

\---

 

Dorian had a modest income from his work with the Inquisition. It wasn’t much, but he didn’t have a great deal of expenses; he had learned to patch up his own clothing while travelling south, food was mostly provided to him, meaning he only had to pay for luxuries such as his make-up and some northern food.

 

It meant he had the money to buy himself some new jewellery, something he might not have indulged in only he knew himself well enough to know that he was shallow enough to be cheered up by pretty things, and he needed the lift to his mood. A further extravagance, and one he was almost ashamed to admit that he wanted as three thin soft strips of leather with simple buckles.

 

He passed them off as the spares for his clothing, but in reality they were for the cats.

 

It was ridiculously unnecessary, the sort of thing his mother’s more eccentric friends might have done, truly admitting the cats had become pets rather than mousers.

 

He didn’t know if the cats would let him collar them, Octave certainly wouldn’t, but he still wanted them; they were more for him than the cats anyway.

 

Dorian browsed a little, mostly because the weather was actually tolerable. The merchants might not like him, but they were happy enough to take his gold, though he was sure most of them overcharged him. He paused at a table which had some thick blankets folded up and piled on the edge. He was aware that he probably had enough, but it was so soft he found himself tempted.

 

He looked up to inquire about the price. The Elven merchant punched him.

 

Dorian had taken a punch before, and with more grace but it surprised him enough that the force that he stumbled back, tripping on his own feet and hit the ground. His head rung, and for a few seconds that’s all he was really aware of, before everything swam back into place.

 

The elf was standing over him, her hands still curled into fists, but some of the other merchants and refugees had joined her, forming a loose circle around him. None of the soldiers or scouts had moved to join, they didn’t want to risk trouble form the higher ups, but they didn’t move to help him either.

 

“Your kind took my sister, she’s probably a slave now, and you have the balls to saunter around here like you own the fucking place,” the elf spat.

 

“My kind? We’re hardly a-”

 

A human interrupted him. “There’s groups of ‘Vints wondering the countryside killing anyone they come across and burning villages. What do you have to say to that?”

 

“How do we know you aren’t working for the Elder One?” Another demanded.

 

Dorian scrambled to his feet before the group got too close to stop him. He wondered what would happen if he defended himself, if the soldiers would rush to the aid of the poor people being attacked by the ‘Vint. He kept his hands by his side.

 

“I’m here to stop Corypheus, just like everyone else.”

 

“You say that.”

 

The group was closing in, and Dorian readied his magic. He wasn’t going to take a beating without defending himself. Lightening danced at his finger tips and he saw the crowd notice, it only seemed to make them angrier.

 

Before the situation could escalate Varric elbowed his way into the circle and grabbed Dorian’s forearm.

 

“Leave it, Sparkler,” he panted, and Dorian wondered how far he had run to intervene. “They’re just scared.”  Dorian wasn’t stupid or without sympathy, he knew these people were scared and desperate and he was an easy target, but he still bristled at the unfairness of it all. He had been punched and he was being told to calm down.

 

Dorian wrenched his arm back.

 

He was allowed to pass through the group, and he stormed to his rooms. He summoned ice to hold against his eye, but it still pulsed painfully.

 

\---

 

His eye settled into a sore bruise, and he glared at it every time he caught sight of his reflection.

 

Unsurprisingly, none of the cats liked the collars, at least not around their necks.

 

He tried to put one on Atia first, and it ended with him having a scratched hand, and her sitting on the collar in the corner. Vitus let him put it on him, but when he saw him five minutes later the collar was off and Vitus was chewing on it idly.

 

Octave sniffed theirs and then retreated to nap on one of Dorian’s robes. He contemplated taking the opportunity to stroke them while they were sleeping, as he often did, but he always decided against it. They were growing bolder with each week, he was sure it would happen naturally if he was patient.

 

\---

 

Dorian woke up to all three cats on his bed.

 

He very rarely slept without one of them in his room these days, all three of them coming and going as they pleased, but it was unusual for all them to stay through the night, normally he had to get up at least once to let one out.

 

It was nice.

 

Atia was making soft little snorting snores under the covers and pressed against his chest while Vitus was on the pillow, directly above his head, one paw flat against the top of his head, and another in his face. Octave, as usual was down at his feet, on top of them and lying ungracefully on their back.

 

There was a beam of light across the floor from the crack in the curtains, and Dorian knew he should get up and return to his research, but he found himself unwilling to leave his bed. He dozed for another hour before he felt Octave stretch and climb to their feet. The leapt from the bed and went to sit by the door. Dorian carefully extracted himself from the bed, and opened the door enough for Octave to slip out. They paused to rub the side of their face against his trouser-leg before dashing away.

 

Dorian grinned, like he was a teenager who had just experienced his first kiss.

 

He climbed back into bed, but didn’t go back to sleep. He read a little, stroking the cats with his free hand. Vitus rumbled happily while Atia pushed him out of the way when she felt Dorian had given him too much attention. Both cats rumbled happily.  He finally got up again only when his bladder demanded it. Both cats meowed at him and he laughed, trying not to step on them when they jumped down to wind around his legs.

 

Both cats wondered off when he went to get breakfast, but Vitus was waiting for him on his chair when he got up to the library. He spent the morning playing with a loose thread on Dorian’s robe before wondering off around lunchtime to go do whatever it was he did. 

 

Atia arrived right on time for lunch and shared it with him. She purred happily as Dorian hand fed her bits of food, nuzzling against him. She napped on the desk after, all over books and papers he needed, before jumping down to the ground mid-afternoon with a loud thump directly related to her size, and wondered off, tail high in the air.

 

\---

 

Cullen found him a little after that, and they played a game of chess.  Dorian was in high spirits when he returned to his room. It was amazing what some friendly conversation could do, and they had arranged for another game in a few days. Dorian didn’t even mind that he had lost all but one game. A game he was sure Cullen had thrown to save his pride.

 

The Inquisitor should be back in a week, and he would ask to be taken with them. He might not be their best friend in the world, but they got on well enough, and he couldn’t see them denying him that if he asked. Plus, he would get to see Bull and Sera again.

 

His black eye had totally faded, and there had no particularly noteworthy aggression towards him since the incident with the merchants.

He pushed open the door to his room.

 

There were a several hooks nailed into the stone walls of his room. He had a map of Thedas hanging on one of them, and he kept one his coats hanging on another almost directly opposite. Someone had thrown the coat onto the floor, and pulled the map down, putting their foot through it. They had tied a length of thick rope between the two hooks.

 

Hanging from the line, each with their own, thinner rope tight around their necks, were his cats.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... I guess it's time to tell you guys that the WIP title for this fic was "Kitty Murder". I think what we have learned here is that I cannot be trusted with nice things, because this is what I do to them when left unsupervised. I did enjoy all of your reactions immensely, but if it helped, I did upset myself when writing this fic. 
> 
> Love you all, and I am at probably a little sorry.

Years before while training to use a staff, Dorian had once failed to block a strike to his gut from an older student. They hadn’t been pulling their punches, and really, Dorian should have been able to block. He had been doubled over, on the ground, all the wind knocked out of him. It was one of the most uncomfortable things he had ever experienced. He had had a bruise so dark it was almost black and had actually thrown up.

 

This felt like that but worse.

 

His whole body was shaking and he couldn’t seem to breathe.

 

He backed up to the door and slid to the ground, unable to look away from the sight in front of him. Someone had caught his cats and killed them, and left them for him to find. There was a piece of parchment hooked onto the line with a clothing peg. Written over it, in neat, capitalised text were the words: “ _Leave or we’ll put you out of your misery like we put your filthy familiars out of theirs.”_

 

Dorian was crying, tears already pouring from his eyes, and he was pushing himself back against the door as if he could push himself through it.

 

Someone had killed his cats.

 

They had proven they could get into his room, and that they wanted him gone. They had proven would _kill innocent animals_ to send that message.

 

He couldn’t stop shaking.

 

His curtains were open, and the sun, while low in the sky cast enough light to through shadows of the gently swaying animals up onto the wall. He had to get them down.

 

He staggered back to his feet.

 

Tears were still streaming down his face, and he could barely see through them, but he reached up to untie the cats.

 

He worked from left to right.

 

Vitus was first. It was so strange to hold him without the familiar rumble, and Dorian ran his hand across his body, through the long fur. Vitus didn’t have any marks on him aside from the ugly raw skin around his neck, the blood matting his fur; he had probably still been alive when they had tied him up.

 

Dorian sobbed, and buried his face in Vitus’ side. It had probably been so easy to catch him; Vitus would let anyone pick him up. He certainly wouldn’t have complained about being carried to Dorian’s room. He wouldn’t even have struggled while the rope was put around his neck, and by the time he would have realised something was wrong it would be far too late to do anything about it.

 

Dorian placed Vitus down on his bed, and reached for Octave.

 

He had never touched their fur with his bare skin before, and this morning, when they had rubbed against his leg felt like another world entirely. She had rubbed against his leg. Octave was a girl. He wished he hadn’t noticed; finding out now she was dead, and like this, holding her corpse in his hands, made him feel sick. He held them close against his chest, tangling his fingers in their fur. He didn’t want to think about how anyone had caught them.

 

He almost sank to the floor again, but he needed to get Atia down first.

 

He had to hold himself together.

 

There was blood under Atia’s claws and Dorian let out a hysterical laugh; of course she hadn’t come quietly. She had the same ugly mark around her neck as Vitus and Octave; someone had gone through effort to make sure the cats were still alive when they had hanged them, wanting them to suffer. Dorian felt a spike of anger go through him so intense that his arms tightened around Atia, nails bit into his palms.

 

Every muscle in his body was tense.

 

He realised he was holding her too tight, and he realised that if she was still alive, he would be hurting her.

 

He flinched dropped Atia to the bed. He was his knees in an instant, tugging her lifeless body back into his arms.

 

“No, no, no. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.” What was the point of necromancy when he couldn’t even bring some cats back to life? “Please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

 

He let her fall back to the bed again, and slipped back to the floor, curling in on himself. His trembling was broken up my harsh sobs that shook his whole body.

 

This was his fault.

 

If he hadn’t started feeding the cats they never would have been killed. He knew how people felt about him, he should have known that people would be willing to hurt people, things, close to him to get to him.

 

This was his fault.

 

The sun had set when Dorian finally decided on a course of action. He pulled off his robes, leaving them on the floor and changed into his most formal set. He collected the bowl of water and placed it on the bed next to the cats. Very carefully, he started to clean them off. He started with the blood, working it out of their fur one by one but he couldn’t do anything for the raw skin the rope left.

 

He spoke to them while he cleaned them, saying their names over and over, as if that might help them hear him.

 

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this. Atia, Octave, Vitus. I didn’t know people would hurt you. Kaffas. I’m sorry.”

 

He wasn’t a stranger to death, he knew what happened when something died. So he wiped down between each of their legs, cleaning away shit and piss that their bowels had released when they died. It stank, but he would take it over the smell of rot.

 

He emptied and refilled the bowl four times before he decided they were clean enough. They fur was still soft under his fingers, but their bodies were cold. All the comfort he had derived from them had been pulled out and he was left with shells.

 

He washed off his face after he cleaned them. There was nothing he could do for the redness around his eyes, and he still hadn’t stopped crying, but he cleaned away his ruined make-up. He didn’t reapply it.

 

He had a box full of spare parchment under his bed and he emptied it onto the floor. One by one he lifted the the cats into the box.

 

It was heavier than he expected, and he let out a hollow laugh.

 

“I bet that’s all you, Atia.”

 

He had hand fed her only a few hours before.

 

He didn’t lock the door to his room, there wasn’t any point, and he kept his head down as he walked out to the gardens. He thought someone might ask him what he was doing with the box, or even comment on how obvious it was that he’d been crying, but no one seemed to notice.

 

He reached the garden without being stopped. He went behind the small Chantry, where nothing had been planted in the earth yet, and took laid the cats out, side by side. He wanted to say something, but he found himself at a loss as to what. He considered promising revenge, but he knew it would be an empty one; it could have been almost anyone. He considered saying sorry again, but he didn’t want to leave them on that note, even thanking them seemed like not enough.

 

In the end, he settled for an out of context quote from the Chant of Light.

 

“ _You have walked beside me_

_Down the paths where a thousand arrows sought my flesh._

_You have stood with me when all others_

_Have forsaken me.”_

 

With a wave of his hand he set each cat on fire. They had been his only company for three months, he wanted them to have the best funeral he could provide.

  
He sat in the dirt, ruining his robes, and watched until the flames went out. He made sure it burned hot enough to leave only ash behind.

 

\---

 

Dorian didn’t know where to go.

 

He couldn’t go back to his room, even if people hadn’t been able to get into it, the image of the cats hanging there was burned into his mind. If he could help it, he never wanted to see that room again.

 

He could ask for a new one, but that wouldn’t solve the first problem, and it was too late at night to deal with it now anyway. He couldn’t go to the library, he couldn’t be around people right now.

 

Sera and Bull’s rooms would be empty, but neither seemed like an ideal option; Bull’s was right next to the Charger’s rooms, and they were always bustling around the area. Explaining to them why he was there was a conversation he didn’t have the energy for.

 

Sera’s room, then. It was off the tavern, but no one who he had to answer to would question him about it; it would do for the night at least.

 

He made it halfway there before he realised he couldn’t. Even if they might not bother him in Sera’s room, people would know that’s where he was; if they were willing to kill his cats, maybe they would also be willing to hurt anyone who was seen as being friendly to him. He leant again the battlements, staring out over the edge.

 

Dorian was hit by a wave of dizziness, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the height or the realisation of how dangerous he was to be around.

 

He couldn’t be around other people. It wasn’t safe. He could take attacks on his person, but he wouldn’t put anyone else in danger by being associated with him. He hadn’t really stopped crying for any significant amount of time since he had burned the cats, but they started coming stronger again. He raised his fist to his mouth and bit into it, squeezing his eyes shut. He was outside, and guards patrolled along the battlements, he didn’t want to be heard.

 

He bit harder and forced himself to take breaths as deeply as he could. He had to focus on the short term for now. He couldn’t go to his own room, and Bull and Sera’s were out of the question. He could go and sleep in the library, but it felt too vulnerable without a door between him and everyone else.

 

He lowered his standards; he only needed somewhere for tonight, he would come up with something better later.

 

Parts of Skyhold were still in enough disrepair that they weren’t used, but there was surely a room amongst them that could pass as liveable. He turned on his heel and headed towards the more ruined parts of the fortress.

 

\---

 

This part of the castle was uninhabited for a reason, but there were a few rooms that where both fully enclosed and appeared to be structurally sound. Even those where were filled with rubble, and dust, and in some cases dead animals, but he did eventually find somewhere that looked liveable. It looked like it might have been intended to be a storage room of some kind. It was small, only maybe three metres across and two wide and cold, the whole part of the castle was, but it would do. He had his field kit in his room, and with that he was sure he could manage.

 

The walk back to his room seemed to take longer than it should. It had only been a couple of hours since he had last walked there, but already it felt totally different. He would grab enough that he wouldn’t have to come back for a while; he didn’t want to have to see it again.

 

He hadn’t really noticed the smell the first time, he had been so consumed with the cats, but he noticed it now. He remembered the cats smelling but not the way it had spread throughout the room. It smelt like some of the poor excuses for privies he had encountered since arriving in the south.

 

Dorian had cleaned up the cats but there was still mess on the floor. He would have to clean the room up at some point soon, the longer he left it the worse it would be, but it could wait a few days.

 

His bedroll was already packed, but he pulled out other things that he wouldn’t need, such as his spare boots, and replaced them with a couple of extra blankets, and a pillow that took some force to cram in. He packed two spare sets of robes and something to sleep in, a couple of his own books, his travel toiletries, and a small box of small personal items, mostly letters. He grabbed his staff and a bottle of wine he had been saving for a special occasion. He had considered sharing it with Bull; Sera wouldn’t have appreciated it. He knew she would much rather have cheap, awful ale and lots of it.

 

When Dorian left he locked the door behind him to keep up appearances.

 

\---

 

Dorian wasn’t sure if having his stuff in the room made it more or less depressing.

 

He rolled out his bedroll, placing his lone pillow and extra blankets on top of it. It looked nowhere near as comfortable as his bed back in his room, but he had slept in worse. It was only for a night anyway. He stripped off until he was in just a pair of lose trousers and climbed into his make-shift bed.

 

The ground was hard under him and the whole room was cold. He had stopped crying at last, but his head still ached, and while had had been up all night, he didn’t feel at all like he could sleep. He was exhausted, but it had nothing to do with lack of sleep. Every slight sound had him flinching, and he felt like he was being watched.

 

The last time he had felt like this was when his father had kept him prisoner in their summer villa.

 

With that memory spurning on his discomfort, Dorian climbed out of bed. He picked up his staff and started casting. He drew protective glyphs around the room and on the door, priming them as he went. They weren’t strong, couldn’t be if he expected them to last while he slept, but he made enough of them that hopefully they would help.  If there was a Templar after him, they might not have much effect on keeping them out, but it would hopefully protect him from anyone else who came snooping. At the very least the wards would give him an early warning.

 

Dorian grabbed the bottle of wine and worked out the cork. It was as good as he had expected and he drank straight from the bottle in large gulps. He sat back on the bed, trying to focus on the wine rather than anything else. He wouldn’t cry again; he had spent enough of his life being sneered at by his peers, should be able to handle it.

 

He stopped tasting the wine after a while but he kept drinking; he wasn’t a stranger to drinking to make sleeping easier and it would be best if he drank the whole thing, until his head was foggy and he was too out of it to really be sad.  He held it vertically to catch the last few drops dripping from the rim before pushing it to the side, it rolled and then clucked against the far wall.

 

Dorian allowed himself a sigh as he snuggled back down into his bedding. He was warmer now, and while his emotions still lingered around the edge of his mind, they weren’t so pressing.

 

He missed the cats’ warmth in his bed.

 

He reached out blindly and managed to find his abandoned robe. He rolled it into a ball and curled around it. It was the wrong shape and texture, and was cold were one of the cats would have been warm, but it was the best he could do.

 

He heard the bell sound, thought it was quieter than he was used to. The sun would be just starting to rise. He curled more tightly around his robe and ignored it.

 

\---

 

Dorian slept in fitful bursts, and the Fade tormented him each and every time.

 

He didn’t know what time it was when he finally woke for good. His head ached, pounding steadily, but the room was blissfully still dark without a window. It took a few minutes before he gathered the courage to light the torch that he knew was somewhere up on the wall.

 

He made a pained noise when he finally flicked his hand at it, magically lighting it. He was still wrapped around his robe, which caused a spike of emotion that he brutally shoved down. He wanted to keep sleeping, but he knew the people who had killed the cats would be watching for a response, and he refused to give them the pleasure of his absence. He could keep his goals for the day realistic and small.

 

He would go to the library, try and get some work done, or at least make it look like he was, find some food, and then slip down into the wine cellar and liberate a few more bottles of wine. He had fully intended to think up a more long term sleeping arrangement, but it would have to wait until he wasn’t so hung over and didn’t feel like he had gone head to head with an angry drufflo, both physically and emotionally.

 

He felt like he was being watched as he walked to the library, and he hunched his shoulders, taking on a posture that would have made his parents cringe.  A small elf with an armful of laundry rushed around the corner, colliding with him with enough force that he stumbled back and she dropped the dirty clothes.

 

“Ah, Sorry m’lord,” she said, gathering up her laundry. Dorian stared at her dumbly. She curtsied and rushed off. “Fucking asshole,” she muttered just before she was out of earshot.  Dorian realised too late that he should have helped her pick it up.

 

He was never more grateful to sink into his chair in the library, and to have an hour to pretend things were normal. He barely managed to get any work down, but he had made an effort. A cat wondered past after a few hours, and his heart leapt hopefully into his throat before realising his mistake and his precarious mood plummeted.

 

He called it a day.

 

He didn’t grab a full meal, just some bread, and passed by his room to grab some jam he knew he had there. He held his breath and stared at the floor the entire time, unwilling to look at the carnage on the wall.  He left as quickly as he could, locking the door behind him as he headed for the stairs.  He grabbed three bottles of wine from the cellar and went back to the storage room.

 

He ate the bread and had a bottle and a half of the wine before trying to get back to sleep. He cried only a little, and he decided to take that as a victory.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, something I probably should mention because I couldn't find a way to fit it into the actually story without it being clunky and awkward, and a couple of people have asked about it. Cole isn't around in this fic because I don't believe for a second he would have let this go unnoticed and by the time I actually realised that, I couldn't come up with a better justification than, "I guess this Quizzy didn't recruit him." This is also very convenient because I can't write Cole's dialogue at all. 
> 
> On a different note, we're now half way through!

Dorian spent the next day hungover and in the library, more out of habit, than because he actually expected to get any work done. He still only made it there by late afternoon, spending much of the day curled up on his hard, makeshift bed, contemplating if this was better or worse than the time he had spent in the stricter Circles. Thinking about the past never helped, but he couldn’t seem to help himself, because apparently there was little he did better than make himself feel worse during a bad situation.

He turned his chair half around in the library, so he wasn’t looking out anymore, rather almost facing the wall. He was getting too old, a terrible thought, to sit in a chair with his knees pulled up but he did it anyway, some mindless romance from one of Varric’s rivals on his lap. He flipped to the end to make certain there was a happy ending before actually starting. 

The two women, an Orlesian handmaiden and a Ferelden noble’s daughter, were together and happy, and even had the approval of their respective families. Dorian felt it was a good as distraction as any.

He ended the day by going past where he had burned the cats. There was a dark patch of burnt ground but all the ash had blown away. He didn’t stay long; he overheard more people whispering about him, this time wondering what he was doing so near a Chantry when everyone knew his kind had killed Andraste. The other had wondered if he was the reason some of the Amrita Vein had failed to grow, as though he went around cursing the ground, and it wasn’t the cold and high altitude to blame.

Dorian didn’t drink that night and barely slept as a result; every time he almost fell asleep he would jerk away suddenly, swearing he had heard something in his room.

\---

Dorian had actually started to form a plan by the next day, and while it wasn’t one he liked, it was one he needed to do; he wasn’t going to let anyone else get hurt on his account. He made it to the library at a reasonable time for the first time since his cats died. He carefully laid out his books, even ones he didn’t technically need, making himself look as busy as possible. He even ran his hand through his hair, making it stick up at awkward angles.

Cullen arrived forty minutes after they had agreed to meet, if his estimations were correct.

“Dorian, are you all right? I thought we were going to play chess?” Cullen was far too trusting, assuming it was his error or because of some reason beyond Dorian’s control. Dorian knew he was occasionally guilty of wearing his emotions on his sleeve, but he was also Tevene, and when he put the effort in he could be a convincing actor. He looked between his full table and Cullen, frowning. 

“Ah, Cullen. Forgive me, I got rather caught up in…” he waved his hand at his research.

“I can see,” Cullen smiled, but there was a tightness around his eyes and Dorian felt guilty for his deception. Cullen worked too hard and had likely been looking forward to the break as much as Dorian had. Dorian quashed the negative emotion as he reminded himself this was in Cullen’s best interests in the long run. 

“Might we call a rain check?” Dorian asked, making no move to find a place to pause in his research until Cullen informed him it was all right, as would have been polite. 

“Ah, yes. Let me know.”

“I’ll come interrupt you sometime in the near future.” Dorian gave Cullen a wide grin, the one he had learnt to give in Tevinter that looked completely genuine no matter how he was actually feeling.

Cullen left. Dorian had no intention of arranging another chess game. 

It wouldn’t take long for Cullen to dismiss him, and then he wouldn’t be risking the respect of his men, or worse, for being associated with Dorian. He refused to have another day of moping in the dark storage room, and he had been useless for enough days on the Inquisition’s time, so he remained in the library for as long as he could stand. 

He went back to the storage room via the wine cellar. 

\---

Dorian wasn’t eating properly, and he knew it. 

I was only really managing one meal a day, and if he kept it up he would start to lose weight, but the act of eating seemed exhausting. Even worse, he was substituting food with alcohol. He’d done that in the last, during some of the more shameful periods of his youth and it hadn’t worked out well then, he doubted it would be any better now.

But it was easier to keep doing it than actually try and stop. It was just until he got through the mourning period, he promised himself. 

They had served rabbit one day, and he had had such a vivid memory of Octave bringing him a rabbit that his stomach had rolled and for a moment he had been certain he was going to vomit. He had lost the rest of the day, retreating to his room, and curling around another stolen bottle. He wasn’t throwing the bottles away, just adding them to a pile an ever growing, and increasingly depressing corner. 

He wondered what would happen if someone found the stash, if they would be worried for him, or just furious that he had been stealing from the Inquisition. He played the scenario out to its depressing conclusion. 

The Inquisitor was due to return the next day. 

He was afraid of how hard getting rid of Sera and Bull would be; selfishly, he hoped they wouldn’t let him.

\---

Dorian had a speech prepared for when Bull came to find him, something about it having been fun, but despite the frankly mind-blowing sex, it wasn’t what he wanted. He had something about Bull being a pleasant distraction, but hardly the sort of person he wanted to have a meaningful interaction with; just cruel enough to damage Bull’s opinion of him, without looking like he was trying to pick a fight.

It turned out none of it was necessary, because as always, Bull defied expectations. 

“No cat today?” Bull asked, appearing at Dorian’s alcove, precisely when Dorian expected him. Dorian had had to force himself not to meet the returning party to request the Inquisitor that he be in the next group to travel with her. It would be good to leave Skyhold, but would be counterproductive in protecting the others from his company. Besides, scouts and other solders travelled with the Inquisitor, he would hardly be free from their petty torments. 

“Ah, no.” Dorian hoped Bull didn’t pick up too much on his emotions; he hadn’t expected anyone to notice the cat’s absence.

“I was thinking about you while we were travelling, thought of some stuff we might try tonight that I think you’d enjoy.” Bull managed to make the sentiment sound sweet and filthy all at the same time. 

Dorian swallowed, running quickly over the main points of his argument quickly in his head. “Actually, I think not. I’m not sure I’d like to engage in those sorts of activities again.”

Bull looked a little surprised, but recovered quickly, smiling warmly enough to cut off the rest of Dorian’s speech. “All right, Big Guy. If you change your mind, you know where to find me. You should still join us for celebratory drinks tonight though, we killed a dragon.” Here Bull’s smile widened into s grin. “We’re planning a re-enactment.”

“I’ll have to miss it, I’m afraid. I have a prior engagement.” He gestured at his work, spread across the table in untidy piles.

“Sera will be sorry to hear that, she’s missed you.”

Dorian’s chest tightened. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating, I’ve hardly done anything to earn being missed.”

Bull shrugged. “She thinks you’re funny, and despite your best efforts to suggest otherwise, you don’t actually look down in her. She thinks you’re ‘all right for a fancy ponce.’ She’s not alone in thinking that.”

Dorian tongue was heavy in his mouth, and he couldn’t think of a single thing to say; he should have pushed on with his speech, but the moment had passed.

“Do your reading, we’ll steal you away some other night.” Bull clapped Dorian’s shoulder with one heavy hand and ambled away down the corridor. 

There were tears forming behind Dorian’s eyes and he twisted his face into a half snarl as he tried to force them down. How many times in his life had he been sincerely missed? 

He barely managed to keep working until darkness feel before he returned to the storage room.

\---

“All right, you?” Sera was sitting in his chair the next morning. She was swaying slightly, and was flushed in a way that suggested she hadn’t slept and was still very drunk. “I came looking for you earlier. You weren’t here. Thought you were going to be working?”

“I needed a change of scenery.” 

She frowned. “You weren’t’ in your room either, I checked.”

“I go places other than my bedroom and the library,” Dorian insisted.

She snorted. “Where? Cause I’d’ve seen you in the tavern and Bull was with me, so you weren’t getting your arse pounded.”

Dorian felt himself redden and he managed a small smile, the first true one in days.

“There’re some other quite places to read around Skyhold.”

“Ugh, why’d you do boring shite instead of drink with us?”

“Go to sleep, Sera.” Dorian wasn’t ready to start this with Sera, after having to start driving Bull away only the night before, but he had to do it before he lost his nerve. He hoped it wouldn’t be long before Sera and Bull left with the Inquisitor again, that would be easier than this.

“That’s what Solas said when I started dropping things on him while I waited. Don’t be as dull as him, Dori.” She grinned at him.

Dorian inhaled deeply and released. “I have to work, Sera, go bother someone else.” 

A flash of hurt crossed her face and it was all he could do not to flinch. 

“Fuckin’ fine.” She jumped to her feet, swaying when she landed, but pulling away when he reached out to steady her. They joked around all the time, but he hadn’t said anything truly hurtful to her in a long time.

Dorian dropped into the vacated chair. He didn’t feel at all like working, but he didn’t have anything else he could do. He picked up his quill, and picked up where he’d left off. 

\---

Dorian spent another day in the library, but left early enough to avoid Bull.

The Inquisitor was only going to be in Skyhold for a week before they left again, for the Farrow Mire this time, so it probably was for the best that he wasn’t part of the team going; despite his academic interested in the dead, he had no desire to see that place firsthand. He only had to avoid Bull and Sera for a week, then. He was gathering up some of his supplies to take back to the storage room, intending to keep working when he heard his name being muttered one stack over.

“I looked it up, Pavus is an important family in Tevinter, the name appears in a couple of history books. Probably had slaves to wipe his arse and everything.” 

“What’s he doing here, then?”

“Don’t know; doesn’t make a lick of sense. There must be something he’s hiding from everyone, like who he’s actually working for.”

“Makes sense, considering he’s an Altus.” A third voice joined the conversation, and Dorian recognised her as one of the librarians; he had thought she was only indifferent to him. She sounded smug, like she knew something the other two didn’t.

“What do you mean?” The first voice asked.

“Altus means he’s descended from the ‘Dreamers’ the old families of Tevinter who could communicate with the Old Gods. The people who went into the Fade were Dreamers.” She paused for effect. “He could very possibly be descended from Corypheus, or at least one of the others who turned the Golden City black.”

There was a long silence. 

“Someone should question him, if the Inquisitor won’t.”

“Can’t do shit with Bull hanging around him. You think he’d be the first not to trust a ‘Vint, what with the horns. You think Pavus hired them to protect him and working for the Inquisition’s just a cover for them?”

“Nah, if that was the case he wouldn’t let Bull or the Chargers leave for the field without him. Probably just seduced him for some free protection.”

“Makes sense, his kind are always making sure the odds are stacked in their favour, and if money’s not an option why not spread his legs?” The librarian said. Even without being able to see her, Dorian could tell she was enjoying the attention. 

There was some laughter. “Fucking slut.”

“You’re right though, he’ll do anything to get ahead. Heard one of the soldiers say that he cheats at chess when he plays against the Commander.”

For a moment Dorian entertained the thought of confronting them, but dismissed it quickly; making trouble wouldn’t make him any less popular. His checks burned with humiliation as he hurriedly finished gathering his things and fled to the unused part of Skyhold. He wanted to be angry at what they had said, but there was a sharp truth to what they had said, at least to some of it.

Sleeping with Bull had provided him with a certain sense of protection that he wouldn’t have otherwise enjoyed. This was exactly why he needed to distance himself from Sera and Bull, people already doubted them because of their association with him.

Dorian lit the touch in the store room with magic and settled down to work, trying to keep his focus on the books rather than what he had overheard. He was used to working by firelight, he often stayed up long after the sun had set, but he missed the natural light his alcove by the window had been offering. 

\---

Dorian managed to avoid Bull and Sera for the next two days simply by avoiding the library at the times they might normally appear. He wasn’t sure if Sera found him because he had grown complacent or simply because she had caught onto his habits. 

He was sitting up by Vivienne’s balcony, empty while she was dealing with some visiting nobles. Sera’s hair was shorter than the last time he had seen her, choppy and uneven, hacked at with a knife as always. He felt a little guilty. She had finally agreed to let him cut her hair the last time she had been in Skyhold, but clearly had decided to just do it without him while he was avoiding her. 

She deserved better friends then him.

“Where the fuck have you been?” She said, as her opener.

“Working.” Dorian knew this confrontation was coming but that didn’t mean he was any more prepared. 

She pulled a face. “So you can’t spare like, an hour to have drinks with us? We’ve been gone for ages.”

“I don’t want to lose momentum; I think I’m close to something.” He felt bad for lying, he wasn’t close to anything, his research hitting dead-end after dead-end. 

“You can take a friggin’ break and the world isn’t going to be any more fucked up after than it is now.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I thought we were friends, yeah?” 

It was on the tip of his tongue to assure her that of course they were friends and he only just managed to bite it back. He still couldn’t bring himself to deny it however, so he sidestepped the question. 

“This has nothing to do with us being friends or not.”

“That what does it have to do with?” She demanded. Dorian hesitated.

“Is this about you and Bull not doing the dirty anymore?”

“He’s been telling people that?” Dorian tensed in discomfort. He should be glad that Bull was making it clear they were no longer associated, but the same anxiety as before, the one about people knowing about his sexual entanglements, flared up. 

Sera shook her head. “Just me, far as I know. Asked him why he hadn’t come and dragged you down to drink with us. He said somethin’ about wanting to give you space. If you don’t want to drink with him, just come drink with me, yeah?”

“I really am just busy, Sera.” 

“Ugh, fine. I get it.” 

Dorian didn’t call after her retreating figure. 

\---

Dorian found out that Bull had been sleeping with other people entirely by accident. He had passed by some soldiers in the dining hall muttering about it, about how wonderfully large Bull was, and how considerate he was, and all the other things that Dorian already knew but refused to say out loud unless he was trying to get Bull into bed faster.

He had no claim on Bull, he hadn’t even had one while they were together, but he felt a pang of envy go through him of the thought of someone else touching, and being touched, by Bull. He had brought this on himself, this is what he’d wanted, but now that it had happened, it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Dorian hadn’t considered what Bull would do after he ended things. He certainly hadn’t expected Bull to sit around and pine after him, but he hadn’t thought about how Bull picking up where he had left off in fucking everyone in Skyhold would make him feel. Dorian cursed himself for being so stupid, and left his food uneaten to go back to the library.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you guys believe me at this point if I said that this fic does stop just getting more and more angsty? Because I promise that it does. Not in this chapter, but soon!

Bull and Sera left with the Inquisitor. Dorian didn’t feel any better.

 

He had expected it be easier to fall back into a routine without having to avoid them, but apparently knowing there were people that wanted to see him enough that he had to work to avoid them had been comforting. He was feeling awful anyway, and had had caught himself falling back into a habit he thought he had kicked years ago, biting his nails down until the new skin was tender or bled, he decided it was finally time to clean up his old room.

 

He didn’t know when exactly he had accepted that the storage room was going to be more permanent, but he also hadn’t spent any energy thinking of alternatives.

 

The room smelt worse than he remembered, probably because he had left it so long. Dorian scrubbed the worst of the mess away as best he could using the cloth by the basin, and then forced open the stiff window to air it out. It didn’t have to be perfect, and he hoped that would be enough. While he was there, he gathered up some more clothes, blankets, and some extra pillows, all needing a wash to get rid of the smell, and then looked through the remainder of his things to see if there was anything he might want.

 

In the end, only some more books, writing materials, and some more indulgent beauty products that hadn’t been deemed essentials before, were added to the bag.

 

As he was leaving, something under the corner of his bed caught his eye. Bending, he found Atia’s collar. Tears collected in his eyes and he shoved it into his pocket, only so he wouldn’t clutch at it. He looked further under the bed and found both other collars. He ran his shaking fingers over the leather before putting them with the others. None of the cats had liked them, and Octave’s had never even been worn, but they all looked chewed on; probably Vitus’s work.

 

He left the pile of things to be washed by the door, dropped off his bad in his new room, and came back to grab the clothes to wash them. There were servants who would do it if he put the things in a basket for them, but he didn’t trust anyone not to mess with his things. He felt eyes on him as he as he cleaned his own things, but he kept his head down. He was far from the only person to do their own laundry, but of course people expected him to be too spoiled to know how.  He struggled to remain bitter about it even as a small voice in his had reminded him that he had never had to do it before leaving Tevinter, and an old man on the road had taught him when he fled south.

 

Dorian took the clean, wet things back to room, and struggled to find a way to hang them to dry. He need a chair or something in here, anything he could hang things on the back of, and added it a vague to-do list.  The room was becoming fuller, but really no more homely.

 

He took the collars out and laid them beside his pillow. Afterward he curled back up around his robes, as if they were any real substitute to the cats in his bed, and tried to sleep.

 

\---

 

Dorian took each day at a time, making empty promises to himself that he would find a way to improve things soon. He fantasised about proving himself to everyone in Skyhold, coming up with wilder and wilder scenarios of him saving the day; he single-handedly took out Corypheus’ archdemon in one, and rooted out spies within Skyhold in another.

 

They were childish, and fantastical, but they helped him get through the day.  

                                                        

He wrote a letter to Rilienus which was long and rambling, but hidden in there was the simple sentiment that he missed him, and wished one of them had had the courage to say how they felt. Rilienus had been as happily married as his parents the last he had heard, and had fallen into worse addictions that the alcoholism they had once shared.

 

Dorian sent it before he could second guess himself, but woke from dreams of some of Leliana’s spies reading to each other and laughing over it. He regretted sending it, especially considering he would almost certainly never get a reply.

 

He drafted more letters to Felix, some which lay around his room, others he burned.

 

\---

 

Dorian was painfully lonely. While that wasn’t really a new development he was aware he wasn’t even having as many short conversations as he had before. He used to speak to the librarians, asking for books, or on some occasions giving advice. He had argued with Solas, sometimes almost friendly, other times moments away from a duel, but they hadn’t spoken in weeks; he didn’t know if that was because he had always been the one to seek out the interactions before.  Maybe he had been forcing his company on Solas, too.

 

He decided to take Dagna up on her offer. Purposefully misunderstanding her was rude, but he needed to talk to someone.

 

When he finally gathered the courage however, the Undercroft was empty, and he slunk back to his room.

 

Dorian woke one morning unable to recall how many days it had been since someone had spoken to him. The last person had been Cassandra, giving a polite greeting as she passed by his alcove, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember if it had been two, or three days before. While he knew it would only make him feel worse, he started to track how many days could pass without anyone engaging him in conversation, using the loosest definition of conversation.

 

Once he had started this ridiculous test, he began pushing himself to stay up later in the library, telling himself he just wanted to work, but in reality, hoping someone would approach him in the late hours, so he could stop the depressing count of days without anyone talking to him.

 

He made it to five days before someone asked to borrow a book he had added to his horde.

 

\---

 

As he had predicted, he was losing weight, but eating was a daunting task without any company, be it from people or his cats. He tried to make sure he had at least one meal in the evening, even if it was just some bread or some fruit, taking it back to his room along with a bottle of wine procured from the cellar, but sometimes he even failed to manage even that. He always seemed to be able to fetch some wine however, and as he drank himself to sleep one evening he wondered if he was drinking more than the time in his early twenties when he had moved from whorehouse to whorehouse trying to evade, well, everything.

 

He couldn’t remember the last time he had gone to sleep entirely sober since his cats had been killed, and while the thought depressed him, he made no effort to change it.

 

He found the bottom of the bottle and rolled it to the growing pile, and turned over in his makeshift bed. He curled around a spare pillow, closing his eyes and pretending it made it him feel slightly less lonely.

 

\---

 

Josephine appeared in the late evening when the library was nearly empty, but still within a normal person’s day. She held herself a little awkwardly, gripping her board with both hands, keeping it between her and Dorian as if it might serve as a shield.

 

Dorian knew she wasn’t scared of him, she had faced down far more intimidating men than himself, so dread fell heavily in his gut as his mind raced through all the bad news she could be the bearer of. He wondered if he would be grateful if she had been sent to ask him to leave.

 

“Lord Dorian, might I have a word?” She asked, the epitome of good manners.

 

“Certainly, how may I be of service?”

 

She indicated that he should follow and started making her way back to her office. Dorian was glad that whatever she had to say wouldn’t have an audience, but he wished he didn’t have to stew in anxiety on the walk. They made stilted, superficial conversation, and while Dorian clung to the interaction, it was hard to enjoy it when neither of their hearts were really invested.

 

Josephine closed the door behind them both and then sat behind her desk. Dorian mirrored her and settled opposite. It felt far too formal for his comfort and he had the unpleasant memory of sitting opposite his father, Halward’s desk between them, Dorian staring at his hands while his father berated him. Josephine sighed, her hands clasped in front of her, resting on the desk, too professional to fiddle with anything. Dorian did have the same control and he played with one of the buckles at his wrist.

 

“I’m sorry to do this,” Josephine said, which was not a start that filled Dorian with optimism. “I didn’t mean for it to be so formal, I just wanted some privacy.”  Dorian had a response on his tongue, some shameless flirtation as a way to deflect, but it caught in his throat and he instead he said nothing. Josephine still left a gap for him to talk, and instead there was an awkward silence.  “It’s about the wine,” she said at last.

 

“Ah.” He didn’t know what else to say.

 

“You understand that the wine is property of the Inquisition, and not for general use.”

 

Dorian was grateful that her voice was free of accusation, like this was all a misunderstanding rather than plain theft. “I am,” he replied at last.

 

She looked him over carefully, evaluating him. “Are you all right, Dorian? There are not some extenuating circumstances I should be aware of?”

 

In his head, a voice screamed at Dorian to say something. He had been given an opening to explain what was going on, how alone he was, and how overwhelmed the constant hatred had left him. Josephine was kind and she didn’t dislike him, she would help.

 

“You’re right, this has been unworthy of me, and I apologise,” he said instead, the words like bile on his tongue. “I will of course pay back the amount I’ve cost the Inquisition.” Josephine tilted her head continuing to look him over, and in his head he pleaded for her to notice something. “I’m just rather homesick,” He blurted out, unprompted, and she startled at the suddenness of his outburst. “Things have been a bit harder here than I anticipated.”

 

She smiled at him, and for a moment her hand was on his shoulder. “That I can certainly understand. The food here is truly terrible, and I miss my family terribly sometimes.”

 

Dorian stared at her. _Please help me,_ he thought, but couldn’t vocalise. The moment passed and she didn’t say anything.

 

“Quite,” he said softly.

 

“I am sorry for having to bring this whole matter up.” She smiled again but Dorian barely noticed.

 

“It will stop presently.” He got to his feet and made the required farewells, and hurried back to his room; even in his head he didn’t try to frame it as anything other than fleeing.

 

\---

 

There was a letter from his father waiting for him when he returned to the library. He took it back to his room before opening it, feeling like he would want some privacy.

 

 The letter was painfully tentative, taking pains to avoid anything that could be even slightly controversial, but finished with an unsubtle sentence about hoping to hear from Dorian soon.  There was a certain warmth to the letter that Dorian couldn’t tell if he was imagining; he didn’t even know if he wanted it to be there or not.

 

He read over it several times before pulling out the other letter, the one sent to Mother Giselle, and tucked them together. He intended to put them back away, try and move on with his day, but he found himself gripping them tightly to his chest. Before he could stop himself he was crying; he seemed to be doing that a lot recently.

 

He missed Tevinter.

 

He missed his father, and home, and the comfort that came from knowing people would, at the very least, _pretend_ to like him.

 

He had come south to help stop the Venatori but instead, he spent his time sitting in a library doing work that anyone could have done, if only anyone else thought it was worth the effort. To top off his uselessness, his attempt to drown his sorrows in drink had actually had a negative effect on the Inquisition resources.

 

They would be better off without him.

 

Dorian pictured going back home, marrying the girl, and playing the good son. His chest constricted at the thought, and a wave of nausea rose up from his gut.

 

He reached over to his bag and started to shove things into it. If he couldn’t be himself here and he couldn’t be himself in Tevinter, he might as well go home; it couldn’t be worse than this. He had tried to be true to himself and he couldn’t remember a time when he had ever been this miserable.

 

At least if he went home his father would be happy.

 

Packing took less time than he’d expected and he sat on the remains of his bed staring at his things. He couldn’t leave now, sneaking out like a thief in the night.

 

He stripped and lay down, his bed even colder and harder than normal.

 

Tomorrow. He would leave tomorrow.

 

\---

 

Dorian woke to all his things packed and piled in the corner.

 

He sat up and stared at them for a long time before unpacking them again, getting dressed, and going to find something to eat. It wasn’t like he had an abundance of friends waiting for him back in Tevinter, and with Felix gone, he wasn’t sure if he could make do with people pretending to like him anymore; at least here, he knew that on the rare occasions people were nice to him they didn’t have an ulterior motive.

 

He picked at his food and wondered if it more cowardly to stay in Skyhold or go home.

 

He repacked that night only to unpack again the following morning.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a longer chapter than the others.
> 
> Have fun :DD

Dorian shouldn’t have been surprised when he got sick.  He wasn’t eating well, barely slept, and spent much of his time in a cold, slightly damp room. Still, when he pushed himself up and his head spun and his stomach heaved, it took him a little while to realise why.

 

He abandoned his books where they were and stumbled back to his room, taking a brief detour past his old bedroom to grab some extra blankets and some elfroot. The room smelled slightly musty and someone had left a book on Templar training, specifically about dealing with blood mages, on his bed, but he ignored it and just grabbed what he wanted.

 

He almost passed out at the end of the ruined corridor to his room. His head felt heavy and his vision narrowed. Only stumbling against the wall stopped him from falling to the ground and he rested his head against the cold stone. He made the war to his room still leaning against the wall, and he let out an audible sound of relief as he collapsed onto his bed. He kicked off his boots, and wrapped himself in the blankets but didn’t bother undressing.

 

\---

 

Dorian woke curled into a ball, shivering violently. He was drenched in sweat and had kicked all of his blankets away. He could barely sit up so he groped blindly for his blankets. When he moved too quickly his body protested, and he vomited onto the ground beside his bed. It hurt coming up and left his mouth tasting foul, but it was one of the least pressing of his symptoms.

 

He finally found the blankets and pulled them up to cover him. There was elfroot somewhere near him, and if he lit a flame he would be able to find it. He also managed to get undressed, fumbling into softer clothes with his limbs feeling lead-heavy and weak.

 

He didn’t even try to clean up his sick, just turned over, clutching his blankets close to him, and fell back into an uneasy sleep.

 

\---

 

The next couple of days passed between a haze of waking moments and sleep troubled by demons trying to take advantage of his state. Desire demons, always his weakness, promised not the loving partners they used to, but simply being liked. Envy demons, something he had never really had a problem with, now offered him all sorts of things: the charisma that came so easily to Bull, or the indifference of Vivienne.

 

He ran out of water quickly, as he threw up everything he tried to drink so he was forced to summon ice to suck on. Casting in this state gave him a blinding headache that even the elfroot couldn’t make bearable. He did finally manage to struggle out of his sweat-covered clothes which made him a little more comfortable but, in the long run, as he alternated at random between too hot and too cold, it made little difference.

 

Dorian longed for a bed, rather than the hard floor and in a more coherent moment, he considered returning to his old bedroom, just for a couple of nights. He didn’t make it past getting to his knees before he was hit with a wave of dizziness, however. Exhaustion dragged him back to his bedroll.

 

\---

 

Dorian had no idea how long he was out. When he woke the latest time his mouth was dry and tasted awful, and his arms still shook when he pushed himself upright, but he finally felt somewhat like a person again. Sleep was still the most appealing choice available, but he knew he should try and leave the room, if only for a little while, and get something to eat. He didn’t know how many days had passed since his last meal.

  
His hair was a greasy mess and he was sure he stank, but he didn’t have the energy to do anything more than wipe himself over with a wet cloth and pull on some clean clothes.

 

\---

 

It was nice to be outside the room.

 

Dorian didn’t intend to stay long in the library, just enough to tidy up, where he had abandoned his things earlier. He would have to do something about his own room; there was still vomit on the floor and all of his blankets would need to be cleaned. The vomit he would deal with as soon as he got back, but the blankets would have to wait until he no longer felt so weak.

 

“About time you showed your face here again.” Dorian looked up from his table to see a tall human, standing close enough to tower over him. “I can’t imagine what the Inquisition pays you to do that’s worth the money, but I doubt it’s something that should just be left in a heap for days, unless it doesn’t really matter.”

 

Dorian wanted to snap that he had been sick, but his skin crawled at the idea of admitting vulnerability to this man.

 

The man’s lip curled into a smirk. “Unless you are whoring yourself out to the soldiers? I can’t imagine someone like you has many other skills. I’m shocked you can even dress yourself without slaves to help you.”

 

Dorian stood. He was still shorter than the other man, and he still felt a little light headed, but it felt good.

 

“Well,” Dorian started, drawling slightly, “After I tired of the Bull, I had to find some way of getting off. Disappointed I didn’t want your sorry cock anywhere near me?”

 

The man went an interesting shade of red and for a second Dorian thought he was going to hit him. Instead, a glop of spit hit his check. The man was gone before Dorian recovered from the shock of it. He wiped it away with his sleeve, fighting tears. He realised abruptly that he would rather be hit; there was something terribly humiliating about being spat on.

 

He grabbed some food, light enough that he hoped his stomach could handle it and returned to his room. He made only the barest attempt at cleaning it before he climbed back into bed.

 

As he lay there, Dorian considered repacking his bag again; maybe he wouldn’t go home, but somewhere else, there must be places out there where people wouldn’t hate him for things he couldn’t control.

 

\---

 

Dorian slept until just after noon and still felt tired.

 

He didn’t want to sit in the library and he had already lost several days to his illness, what was one more? He fished out one of the fiction books he had been making his way through and settled in his bed, squinting a little from the poor light of the lone torch in the room.

 

He had always insisted he had read novels such as these for the sex scenes, which was seen as appropriate behaviour for a young man, but he had accepted that there was something comforting about the romances: young lovers who would find a way to be together no matter the forces trying to keep them apart. Once he had cast himself and Rilienus in those rules, secretly, never admitting the fantasy to anyone.

 

The two leads’ declarations of love were interrupted by someone knocking on the door.

 

Dorian froze, and for a second he forgot how to breathe. He had been here for months now and no one had ever disturbed him. Several possibilities ran through his head; had someone followed him, or was this part of the castle finally being renovated? He stood up, grabbing his staff, not really sure what he intended to do with it.

 

The knock came again.

 

“Dorian? It’s Bull.”

 

Dorian opened his mouth, but couldn’t seem to form words.

 

“Can I come in?”

 

The door was locked, and there was magic protecting the room, runes Dorian had put a great deal of effort into drawing. He could just ignore Bull, and when he left, gather up his things, and find somewhere else to sleep. Instead, he crossed the room and undid the latch on the door, dropping the magic and pulling it open.

 

Bull filled the doorway, but Dorian was long since past being intimidated by Bull’s stature.

 

“I didn’t know you were back,” Dorian said, staring at a point just to the left of Bull’s ear.

 

“Got back yesterday, surprised you didn’t hear about it.” Bull reached out to grasp Dorian’s shoulder, but Dorian shied back. Bull held his hand between them for a moment before dropping it, looking at Dorian with something far too like pity for Dorian’s liking.

 

“I’ve been sick,” Dorian said as way of explanation. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Bull, but he also couldn’t remember how to engage in the easy conversation that he had Bull had reached before, well, _everything_.

 

“Can I come in?” Bull asked again.

 

Dorian retreated further into the room, leaving the door open for Bull. The door swung shut behind Bull, and they were enclosed in the too small room.

 

Dorian was suddenly hyper aware of the state of the storage room he had been staying in. It still reeked of vomit and sweat, there was an embarrassingly large pile of empty bottles littering one corner, but also the occasional lone one elsewhere on the floor. His bed was really just a pile of blankets and pillows, and his clothes were just a separate pile. The rest of his possessions were just scattered across the floor, with nowhere to keep them.

 

Dorian wondered how he looked. Thinner than when Bull had last seen him, for sure, but likely also paler, he had been getting less sun than before. He wondered if he still looked sick, or vainly, if he was even still handsome.

 

He took in the room, and himself, and the way Bull was looking at it all.

 

It was pathetic; he was pathetic.

 

Dorian tried to make himself meet Bull’s eyes but found it impossible to lift his gaze from the floor. He wrung his hands together, wishing Bull would say something, having no idea what he himself should say.

 

“Are you all right, Dorian?” Bull asked at last. He seemed so big in the tiny room.

 

“Fine,” Dorian said too quickly. “I’ve just been sick.” His voice wavered and he knew Bull wouldn’t miss it.

 

“Why are you trying to recover here?” Bull’s voice, in contrast, was so steady and Dorian hated him for trying to force Dorian to admit to the problem, rather than just ask him out right.

 

“I stay in a loud part of the castle, I needed a few days to myself.” The lie sounded hollow even to his own ears.

 

“Dorian, I went to your room before I started looking all over Skyhold for you. It doesn’t look like anyone has stayed there for months.”

 

“Oh.” Dorian took a step back and sank down onto his bed, after a moment, Bull settled next to him, one hand on his shoulder. Dorian flinched at the touch, but after recovering from the shock leant into it. Tears formed at the edge of his eyes but he fought to keep them back; he wouldn’t cry in front of Bull. “How did you find me?” Dorian heard himself ask.

 

“After ruling out your bedroom there were only a few places you could be. It was obviously this room as the opening and closing of the door has displaced the dirt that’s outside all the others.” Dorian felt Bull shrug but still wasn’t looking at him.

 

“Oh,” he said again.

 

“Why are you here?”

 

Dorian swallowed. “If I asked you to leave, would you?”

 

Bull looked at him, weight in that single eye, before he answered. “I think so, but Sera is also looking for you. Might take her a little longer but she’ll work out it. She won’t be so easily dissuaded.” Dorian could hear the fond smile in Bull’s voice and his own lips twitched in response.

 

He knew he should tell Bull to leave, should gather up his things and get out of Skyhold before Sera could find him. He should laugh at Bull for worrying, convince him nothing was wrong. He could keep right on pretending that there was a good explanation for being here. He should… He should…

 

Dorian started to cry, burying his face in his hands and sobbing.

 

Bull shifted closer, wrapping his whole arm across Dorian’s shoulders.

 

“It’s stupid,” Dorian said between gasping breaths.

 

“It doesn’t seem that way.” Bull was pulling Dorian into his side and Dorian went because he was weak and selfish, and unable to put the safety of others before his own desires. “Take your time, you don’t need to rush.”

 

Dorian accepted the offer and stopped trying to talk. He had seen both of his parents cry, though never over the same event. His mother cried sometimes when she got too drunk, and while her face got very wet, and her make-up smudged, she didn’t get red faced like Dorian did, and never had to wipe snot from her nose. It was neither graceful nor composed, but she managed to sharpen what should have been vulnerability into a weapon and when she lashed out, tears streaming from her face she was twice as vicious.

 

He had only seen his father cry once, over breakfast one morning, clutching a letter the servants had handed to him. He had cried silently, one hand covering his mouth, tears leaking from his eyes. Dorian had only noticed when his mother had commented, sounding surprised rather than concerned.

 

 _Titus is dead,_ his father had said without looking up. _He was killed in Seheron._

_Oh, I’m sorry._

His father had given a weak smile and excused himself. When he was entirely out of earshot Dorian’s mother had explained to him that Titus was a friend of his father’s from when he was in the Circle.

 

Dorian, vainly, wished he could have cried like either of his parents; it was worse with Bull watching him.

 

“Do you remember the cat?” Dorian asked at last, when he had managed to stop crying long enough to talk without gasping like a beached fish.

 

“The one in the library from three months ago when I accused you of being a crazy cat lady?”

 

“You have a good memory,” Dorian murmured and Bull shrugged. “There were some others I was feeding, three in total, they had gotten rather fond of me. Someone took issue with that, apparently.” Bull’s hand tightened on his shoulder for a fraction of a second before he forcibly relaxed.

 

“What happened?” Bull’s voice was flat.

 

“They were killed and…” He paused to swallow a sob, “strung up… In my bedroom.” Bull swore. “It’s stupid,” Dorian said quickly, before Bull could say anything else. “They were just mousers. The Maker only knows how many animals I’ve killed directly or indirectly in my life; I grew up wealthy enough that I ate a lot of meat. I shouldn’t have gotten attached to working animals, it’s just… It was nice to have some company. It’s not like anyone else would talk to me.”

 

Dorian was trembling and with Bull’s arm across his shoulders there was no way he haven’t noticed.

 

Dorian turned his face into Bull’s side. “Why do they all hate me?”

 

“They don’t hate you.”

 

“Don’t they?” Dorian wrenched back, but not far enough to leave Bull’s grip entirely. “They insult me, destroy my things, _spit on me._ Is that some Southern way of showing affection that no one told me about?”

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Bull said, and Dorian hated how easily Bull’s voice soothed his anger. “People lash out at things they see as different, but they are ignorant. They don’t hate you, they just don’t know you. The people who know you like you just fine; Sera never shuts up about you, and I happen to like you loads.”

  
“So I should shrug it off, I suppose?” He _should_ , he knows, if he had any mettle to speak of.

 

“No,” Bull said, finality in his tone. “You should point them out to me and Josie and we’ll get it to stop.”

 

Dorian felt the fight leave him. He wrapped his arms around his knees and dropped his head down. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

 

“Does that mean you don’t want me to carry you back to my room?” Bull asked. Dorian looked up, wary of the offer Bull was making. “Come on, you need to sleep in a proper bed.”

 

“I’m not sure I’m in any shape to perform for you.”

 

“I’m not inviting you back for sex, just for sleep and some company.” Bull bumped Dorian gently with his mountainous shoulder.  “C’mon vint, you know how much you like spending time with me.” The big lummox was hamming it up, craning his head down to get Dorian to meet his eye before he kept on. “You love my smell and my trousers, and my stimulating conversation.”

 

Dorian chuckled despite himself.

 

“You coming?”

 

There were so many reasons he should say no, Bull’s reputation and safety for one, not taking advantage of Bull’s kindness for another. He didn’t want Bull to spend time with him out of pity, and when Bull inevitably left with the Inquisitor again, it would be so much harder to be alone again.

 

“Yes,” Dorian said, throat dry. Maker, he was weak. “Please.”

 

Bull helped him to his feet and led him outside. Dorian left his things in the room; he would be back there soon anyway.

 

Bull managed to pick a route that meant they encountered almost no one, but their luck ran out only yards from Bull’s door.

 

“Shit, Dorian. I’ve been looking fucking _everywhere_ for you!” Sera raced across the battlements to catch up with them, but Dorian found himself pressing into Bull’s side, hiding his face. He needed to apologise to her, but the encounter with Bull was already the most he had spoken in weeks. He couldn’t handle disappointing another person right now.

 

Bull muttered something to her, wrapping his arm around Dorian, shielding him. Dorian squeezed his eyes shut, trying to not listen to their conversation. Whatever Bull said worked, because suddenly Bull was guiding Dorian forward into his room and Sera was walking away.

 

Dorian stood in the centre of the room, wringing his hands together as Bull went to light some of the torches. The hole in the roof had been fixed since the last time Dorian had been there, and the room was warm and more welcoming then anywhere Dorian had slept in longer than he cared to think about. He tried to pretend he wouldn’t dwell on it, but he knew himself well enough to know it would nag at him the next time tried to sleep on his hard, frigid bed.

 

Mind racing, Dorian realized he shouldn’t have accepted Bull’s offer to come here. His inability to avoid getting attached was going to end up embarrassing them both. Dorian had a pattern: he would sleep with any man even remotely handsome, and if they were a little nasty to him that was only likely to get him to fall into bed quicker.  The bigger problem was that he fell mortifyingly deeply for men who were kind to him.

 

There had been a Soporati who owed one of the whorehouses Dorian had almost drunk himself to death in. The man had hauled Dorian out of bed in the middle of the night, dragging him out of the back entrance to avoid the men Halward had sent to collect him only by seconds. The Soporati had led Dorian to a modest apartment and let Dorian into it, telling him he could spend a few nights there until he figured out his next move. He had paused in the doorway, telling Dorian he hoped not to see him again, that he hoped Dorian wouldn’t waste his life like that.

 

Dorian had left the next afternoon, and only realised much later he had never got the man’s name, or thanked him for risking his freedom helping keep Dorian from his father; crossing a magister wasn’t an easily forgiven crime.

 

That action had been enough to keep him in Dorian’s fantasies for years.

 

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Bull asked, suddenly in front of him, and Dorian startled. Bull’s hand was cupping his cheek a moment later, his thumb rubbing back and forth.

 

“You wouldn’t thank me for telling you,” Dorian said at least, settling for the truth.

 

Bull hummed noncommittally but didn’t press it further.

 

“Come on, I promised you a proper bed.” Bull dropped his hand to Dorian’s shoulder.

 

“Could we talk instead?” He could sleep when Bull had left again, but he didn’t know when the next opportunity for conversation would be.

 

“Sure. Might as well be comfy, though.” Bull nodded over at his bed.

 

Dorian hesitated before toeing off his boots and pulling off the over part of his robe, folding it and placing it neatly on top of them. He stood awkwardly while Bull removed his harness and boots and getting onto the bed before he followed suit. Bull sat on top of the blankets, but Dorian who had even been prone to complain about the cold in Tevene summers climbed under them.

 

Bull laughed, and encouraged Dorian to settle back again his side, one of Bull’s arms warm around him.

 

“I like this ‘keeping blankets between us’ thing,” Bull said, but he kept going before Dorian could read into it at all, “you have the coldest toes, Big Guy, and a knack for warming them on my legs.”

 

Dorian huffed. “Hardly.”

 

“You come to my room feeling like an icicle, one day my cock’s going to fall off.”

 

Dorian laughed weakly at the image. “We couldn’t have that, could we?”

 

“What a story though!” Bull said, nudging Dorian enthusiastically.

 

“You are ridiculous, how could you hope to entertain all your barmaids with your penis frozen off?” Dorian demanded.

 

Bull grinned, and Dorian caught it out of the corner of his eye and he looked up in time to see Bull leer at him. “I don’t know about that,” Bull said, voice low, and Dorian felt colour rise on his checks. “You know from experience how good I am with my hands.”

 

Dorian’s breath caught in his throat. He stood by what he had said, he didn’t need sex right now, but he could intimately remember the feel of Bull’s hands on him and the pleasure they had brought him, and _Maker_ if it wasn’t an appealing memory.

 

“Later, Big Guy.” Bull placed his hand on Dorian’s knee over the blankets. “If you still want to, I’ll be happy to make you feel good, but seems to me like you need a friend more than an orgasm.”

 

“Or three,” Dorian murmured because he knew it would get a laugh out of Bull, and he hadn’t had anyone laugh with him rather than at him in far too long. Bull delivered, squeezed Dorian’s knee.

 

However, once the laughter had faded, Dorian had to bring the tone back down, had to try and quite the nagging voice in the back of his head, even if he wasn’t going to get that answer he might like.

 

“Are we friends then?” They were no longer antagonistic as Dorian had tried to make them, but part of him still didn’t believe Bull saw him as more than a convenient lay. It still seemed likely that Bull’s actions towards him were just pity and a side effect of Bull’s kindness.

 

“Yeah Dorian, we’re friends. Friends who sometimes have really great sex, but we were friends first. You were just pretending you were above it all until you let me fuck you a little.” Bull’s hand moved from Dorian’s knee to his hair. “If you never want to have sex with me again, we can still be friends.”

 

Dorian sat for a moment, taking that information. He still found it unbelievable that people here offered things like friendship so easily without expecting anything in return. Part of him might always be waiting for the other foot to drop.

 

“Here, I pinkie promise.” Bull said, voice dripping with mock severity, offering the ruined stump of his left pinkie out to Dorian.

 

He grinned when Dorian shot him a filthy look, and then they were both laughing.

 

\---

 

Dorian didn’t have much to say, he didn’t want to relive anything that had happened since he and Bull had last talked, but Bull easily filled the silence, telling old stories of the Chargers, and newer ones of the antics he and Sera had got up to while travelling with the Inquisitor. Bull kept asking Dorian questions, forcing him to keep engaged in the conversation were otherwise Dorian would have fallen silent. It was hard, after so many weeks of barely talking to anyone, but he appreciated it.

 

Dorian ended up with his head on Bull’s lap, Bull playing idly with his hair. Dorian could picture vividly Bull gripping his hair while Dorian struggled to swallow down his cock, and while the image reminded at the edge of his mind, the platonic nature of the situation was nice, too. Dorian hadn’t realised how much he had needed this sort of touch.

 

Bull’s hands paused as one story came to an end and Dorian tensed slightly, against his will.

 

“I’m going to get us some food. Do you want to come with me or wait here?” Bull said at last. He didn’t comment on how much thinner Dorian was, but Dorian didn’t believe for a second that he hadn’t noticed.

 

He weighed up his options. He didn’t want to be alone again, but Bull’s room had created some sort of bubble that felt separate to everything else that was going on. He didn’t want to leave and risk ruining that.

 

“I’ll stay.”

 

Bull stroked Dorian’s hair again before easing out from under Dorian and reaching for his boots.

 

“Sera’s going to want to know what’s going on. Do you want me to tell her, or make something up?”

 

Dorian almost asked him to lie, honestly he didn’t really want Bull to know that he was this much of a mess because people have been mean to him, but he also remember how she had looked when he had dismissed her the last time they had spoken, and he didn’t want to cause that again; too many people had looked down on Sera in her life, he didn’t want to be one of them. “You can tell her.”

 

Bull nodded. “I’ll be back soon.”

 

\---

 

Dorian wondered if Bull still wanted him, if after that shameful display Bull could still imagine pinning Dorian to his bed and taking him roughly. It was a foolish thing to worry about considering everything else that was going on, but it was a thought that was hard to dismiss once it had occurred to him. Bull’s entire early interest with Dorian had been based on attraction; he felt justified in being worried about what would happen if that attraction had dried up.

 

He was only a moment away from climbing to his feet and leaving when Bull returned carrying a tray of food. Dorian knew he should thank him, or really say anything but everything stuck in his throat.

 

“You okay, Big Guy?” Bull asked, setting the tray down on the bed.  Dorian shrugged helplessly.  “Sera wants to come in and see you, I said I’d ask, but you seem a little overwhelmed.”

 

Overwhelmed was a good way of putting it, Dorian felt. This one conversation with Bull was the most talking Dorian had done in the weeks previously combined.

 

He reached for some of the food, just a slice of buttered bread. Even though Dorian’s stomach rolled at the thought of eating he kept going just for something to do with his hands.

  
“Do you want to keep talking?”

 

Dorian nodded, taking a small bite of food.

 

Bull kept talking until the sun had set and Dorian was half asleep against his side. Dorian still felt awful about occupying Bull’s time like this, but it was also easily the best day he had had in over a month, He could handle the guilt in return for that.

 

\---

 

“When are you leaving again with the Inquisitor?” Dorian asked sometime after he had woken up, staring down at his food, poking at it with his fork but not actually eating any of it.

 

“I’m not,” Bull said, matching Dorian’s casual tone, and succeeding for more convincingly than Dorian had. “I asked the Inquisitor if I could sit the next one out, told them I wanted to keep an eye on the Chargers.  Sera had asked to sit one out too, so they’re taking the chance to switch the team up a little.”

 

Dorian felt a weight he didn’t know he had been carrying lift.

 

“Who are they taking?” Dorian asked, finally lifting some food to his mouth.

 

“Last I heard, Varric, Vivienne, and Blackwall… So, best of luck to them.”

 

“Thank you,” Dorian mumbled into his food. He wanted to say more, express how grateful he was, but he didn’t know where to even begin. He hoped Bull understood anyway.

 

There was a bang on the door that sounded more like a kick than a knock. “Oi! If you’re bumping uglies in there, stop, I wanna talk to fancy pants.”

 

Bull chuckled softly and stood up, brushing crumbs from his own breakfast off his legs. He pulled open the door and whatever he saw made his expression soften.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sera said. “Fuck off and give us a few okay?”

 

“Yeah, Sera, sure.” Bull left and there was a squawk that Dorian had come to associate with Bull ruffling Sera’s hair. Dorian left his food at the table and came over to find out what was happening.

 

Sera let herself in and kicked the door shut behind her. In her arms, totally unconcerned by how it was being held, was the ugliest cat Dorian had ever seen.

 

Its fur was patchy and dull, mostly brown but with tufts of white on occasion, most unfortunate on its face, highlighting some matted scaring and it’s almost comically crossed eyes. One of its ears was missing entirely, and the other was missing its tip, and it appeared to only have half of its tail. Dorian wondered if at some point it had gotten into a fight with something larger than it, like a bear for example, or an Archdemon.

  
“This is Dandelion,” Sera announced, and shoved the cat into Dorian’s arms. “I got him for you.”

 

Dorian stared at the cat for a moment, trying desperately to process what had just happened. When he did, he started to tear up.

 

“Aww, naw, none of that,” Sera said, but she was hugging him a second later, squashing Dandelion between them as she gripped Dorian hard.

 

“Thank you,” Dorian said, sniffling slightly.

 

“Just don’t pull that crap again, right?” Sera said, punching him in the arm.

 

“I’m sorry, it was unworthy of me.”

 

Dandelion was sagging in Dorian’s arms, making no attempt to make holding him easy or comfortable for either of them. Dorian shifted the cat higher so he was practically resting on his shoulder.

 

“Sera, I don’t wish to be rude, but why does the cat smell like a refuse pile?” Dorian crinkled his nose, resisting the urge to hold the cat at arm’s length; none of his other cats had ever smelt this bad.

 

“That’s where I found him,” Sera said, as if that was the most natural thing in the world.

 

“You found him in the rubbish pile,” Dorian said, horrified. “What were you doing?”

 

“Lookin’ for cats.” Sera rolled her eyes.

 

“In the rubbish?”

 

“Well it worked, didn’t it?”

 

“I suppose?”

 

Sera groaned. “Look, just come join us for drinks when you’re done moping. It’s not the same without you.”

 

Sera left him there holding Dandelion.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! The comfort part of the hurt/comfort tag finally showed up!
> 
> It took fucking long enough.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just one more chapter after this. I hope you've all enjoyed it, despite the mountains of angst.

 It very quickly became apparent that Dandelion wasn’t just lacking in the looks department. Dorian reached the conclusion the second time he walked straight into a table leg and then rolled onto his back; the time he walked off the edge of the bed didn’t help his case.

 

“Poor guy doesn’t seem to have figured out how to manage without depth perception,” Bull said, chuckling as Dorian scoped the cat before Dandelion could wonder off the side of the bed again.

 

“Is this what you were like?” Dorian asked, scratching Dandelion behind his ears.

 

“Eh, for a little bit, but I adjusted. Your cat was born with his eyes like that though. If he was going to get used to it he would have by now. Actually, surprised he lasted this long considering the way he bumbles around.”

 

“He’s not my cat,” Dorian snapped, too quickly. “I can’t keep him.”

 

“Why not?” Bull asked, sitting down on the bed next to Dorian.

 

“You know why not.”

 

Dorian had always focused a lot on people’s hands. Rilienus had had lovely hands, long fingers and the sort of smooth palms that came with being a rather scrawny scholar who spent very little time practicing staff work. Bull had always been very physical with the people around him, claps on the back, a hand offered to pull people to their feet, but Dorian could swear Bull was touching him now more than ever. His hand cupped the back of Dorian’s neck and Dorian didn’t look at him, but stared instead down at Dandelion.

 

“If you don’t want to keep him, I will.”

 

Dorian let out a noise that was meant to be a laugh but got lost somewhere in translation.

 

“I don’t want any more deaths on my account.” Dandelion was kneading at his tummy, rumbling loudly, wheezing slightly with each breath.

 

“I’ll help you take of him, and I’ll see to it that no one hurts him. I’ll get my boys in on it, too.”

 

“You can’t ask your men to help me look after my cat.” Dorian rubbed at his ears and Dandelion started to lick his clothed arm. He was being selfish again, taking what he wanted regardless of who would get hurt because of it.

 

“Why not? We all look after Rocky don’t we?”

 

“Just make sure he doesn’t get killed,” Dorian muttered, knowing there was far too much pleading in his voice. His cat almost fell off his lap as he curled up to take a nap there.

 

“Don’t worry, Dorian,” Bull’s voice was a quiet rumble.  “I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

 

\---

 

Days later Dorian was making an effort to get back into some kind of routine.

 

He ate three times a day, even if he could often only bring himself to pick at his food, sitting with Sera, Bull, and the Chargers for most meals. Otherwise he would slip back up to Bull’s room to eat alone except for Dandelion, who wasn’t really allowed out because of the fear he might just walk off the battlements. Dorian still found large groups of people overwhelming if he sat with them for too long, which he found frustrating considering loneliness had been part of his problem. Bull promised him it would get easier again with time.

 

The Chargers were being nicer too him as well, which Dorian knew was Bull’s work, but he was so relieved to have company he didn’t mind that their pleasantries were a matter of orders and pity.

 

Dorian also got back to his work in researching Corypheus’s name. It was still slow work, but he was enjoying it again, especially as Bull had taken to appearing in the library when he wasn’t otherwise occupied. It was one of Dorian’s favourite kinds of companionship, sitting silently, both reading their own books.

 

Also, Bull attracted onlookers and was a master in engaging them in conversation. Bull seemed to have friends everywhere in Skyhold, and if they were to talk to Bull in the library, they couldn’t avoid also talking to Dorian. Dorian was sure Bull was imagining things, but Bull swore many were warming up to him. If it was true, Dorian felt bad about mooching off Bull’s popularity.  He catalogued it carefully with all the other things he felt bad about using Bull for, so he could dwell on all of them the next time he felt bad.

 

He wasn’t even being decent enough to sleep with Bull in return.

 

\---

 

They hadn’t talked about it but by the end of the first week, Dorian was unofficially living in Bull’s room. At some point his things from the storage room had ended up scattered around Bull’s space instead, and Dorian hadn’t slept anywhere other than Bull’s bed since Bull had found him.

 

Dorian tried to view it as temporary, despite feeling safer there than he had really anywhere else, and that he would find another solution soon. He knew he should stop forcing himself on Bull’s hospitality.

 

The cohabitation meant that when Krem came looking for Dorian, Bull’s room was one of the first places he looked, and where he found him.

 

“I think Bull is in the tavern,” Dorian said when he opened the door to find the Lieutenant standing, looking a little awkward.

 

“It’s you I wanted to talk to.” Krem set his jaw, raising his chin just enough to remind Dorian that he was just a little shorter than Krem.

 

They stared at each other for a second before Krem walked into the room, his shoulder brushing Dorian’s. Dandelion noticed a new person in the room and stumbled across the floor to rub up against Krem’s legs.

 

Krem bent to pet the cat, and used it as an excuse to not look at Dorian while he spoke. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

 

Dorian chest tightened in humiliation and he felt colour rise on his checks. “Did Bull set you up to this?” It was one thing for Bull to tell the others to be nice to him, but another thing entirely to make them actually address it to his face.

 

Krem sighed and straightened up, expertly ignoring Dandelion’s pitiful meowing. The cat fell to the ground, lying there and continuing to yowl, but even the few short days Dorian had had the cat he had learned to tell Dandelion’s real stumbles from the ones he did for attention.

 

“No, he actually told us to avoid stuff like this.”

  
“Then why are you here?” Dorian snapped. Krem had more reason to dislike him than most, which made him wonder why Krem of all people had been the only one to go against Bull’s suggestion. Dorian had no desire to soothe his conscience by accepting the apology, but to do anything else would make him look like a brat.

 

“Look, we were all shit to you, and we shouldn’t have been. You did nothing to deserve it. The others just thought it was a bit of fun. I knew it wasn’t.”

 

Dorian’s breath caught in his throat. “What do you mean?” Dorian said slowly.

 

Krem let out a frustrated huff. “I knew it had gone too far, and it was easier to pretend that it was okay that to actually do anything about it. I’m sorry.”

 

The first emotion Dorian felt was rage. Finally, there was a person he could blame for everything he had gone through! If Krem had been less selfish, he could have stopped it months ago. If Krem had showed a shred of kindness to Dorian, he could have…

 

But the anger faded as quickly as it came. Dorian was still furious at everyone who had treated him badly, but it was hardly Krem’s fault. Dorian was guilty of far worse crimes than just standing by and letting bad things happened.

 

“Do you know who killed my cats?” Dorian wondered what he would do if Krem said it did, if Krem could have prevented it.

 

“No.” Krem’s jaw tightened. It seemed Bull wasn’t the only one angry at the treatment of the animals. “If I find out anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

 

“Thank you,” Dorian said, and meant it. “And thank you for apologising.”

 

Krem smiled at him, and picked up the still complaining Dandelion. He quietened the moment Krem’s hands closed around him. Krem stroked the cat before approaching and passing him off to Dorian.

 

“You know, Bull didn’t tell us to be nice to you or anything like that. He just mentioned how my crap you were getting, and even then, just to his main guys. None of us are being nice to you because we were ordered to; most of us like you just fine.”

 

“Most of you?”

 

“Yeah, well. Don’t know if you’ve noticed Altus, but you can be an arse sometimes. Jury’s still out with me putting up with your crap.”

 

“I could say the same to you, Soporati.”

 

Krem grinned and clapped Dorian’s shoulder as he left.

 

\---

 

Sera’s hair was probably going to look worse than it did normally, and when it did, Dorian was accepting none of the blame.

 

“See, Dori, it’s not as easy as you said, even if you use your fancy _thingies_ ,” Sera gloated, wiggling in her seat, laughing as Dorian cursed again.

 

“If you would sit _still_ it would be much easier.” Dorian tried to neaten up some of the cuts he had already made but Sera chose that moment to twist around to look into the mirror. She stared at the jagged, uneven mess that Dorian was currently trying to save.

 

“It’s perfect,” she announced and was on her feet before Dorian could stop her. He put down the scissors, accepting defeat and silently asking forgiveness from any barber he had given trouble when he was a child.  “It feels nice though, like yours.”

 

Dorian turned back to Sera to find her running her hands through her hair, which at the very least no long had the texture of straw, though he had had to sacrifice some of his expensive hair products in the effort.

 

“It’s amazing what taking care of your appearance will do,” Dorian drawled. Sera made a fart noise at him. She gave him a quick hug, squeezing tight enough to get a startled squeak out of him.

 

“We should put it on Dandelion!”

 

“No.”

 

“It’ll be funny!” She insisted.

  
“No, this product isn’t cheap.”

 

“Ugggh.” Sera threw a pillow at him, which he caught, and made a mental note to hide his expensive beauty products.

 

Sera was still running her fingers through her hair, making even more of a mess of it, but at least she seemed happy with how soft it was; Dorian hoped he’d be able to convince her to let him have another attempt at cutting her hair based on promising to treat her hair again.

 

“Oh, yeah, Widdle’s was asking after you,” Sera said suddenly, as Dorian gathered up his things.

 

“Widdle?” Dorian asked, unsure if he wanted to know.

  
“Dagna, yeah? Wants to know why you haven’t been down to see her. Said she has some weird magicky stuff she wanted to show you but you never showed up.” Sera settled on her bench, lounging back on the cushions.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“She fucking invited you and you never showed up again.”

 

Dorian sighed. It made sense Sera didn’t understand what that kind of twisted invitation, and it’s real meaning. When Sera saidsomething she meant it. “She didn’t want me to come down there, Sera, she made it very clear.”

 

“She asked you, didn’t she?”

 

“Yes, but it was not the sort of invitation that she wanted me to accept. She was merely being polite.”

 

“’Vints are pissing weird.”  Sera was on her feet again, and had grabbed his hand. “Come on, we’ll go as ask her.”

 

Dorian allowed himself to be dragged after her; at least he would get to see what Danga was working on.

 

\---

 

Bull was sitting on his bed reading when Dorian got back from the Undercroft hours later. Sera had been smug when Dagna had greeted him enthusiastically, guiding him over to see her work, words pouring quickly out of her mouth like she was too excited to contain them. He had childishly stuck out his tongue at Sera’s gloating. Dorian had rarely been as pleased to be proven wrong.

 

“Hey, Big Guy,” Bull said, closing his book and grinning at Dorian. “I heard you tried to tame Sera’s hair, how’d it go?”

 

“Terribly,” Dorian said with a dramatic sigh, “she is incapable of sitting still for more than a moment.”

 

Dorian sat on the bed next to Bull and remembered how many times they had sat like this, side by side in the moments after sex, before Dorian had left to gather his clothes. They had been sleeping side by side for almost two weeks now, Bull’s presence chasing away nightmares and Bull talking to him softly whenever he found himself cracking again. Dorian didn’t necessarily feel less broken, but it was nice to have a second set of hands to help hold him together, and, such a large pair of hands.

 

Dorian’s tongue darted out over his lips.  Bull was watching him carefully.

 

Dorian felt good, happy, almost at ease for the first time in ages. It was nice to be talking to Sera properly again, Dagna had finally given him a chance to talk enthusiastically about magical research, and he had a new cat currently cleaning himself in the middle of the floor. He wished Bull had gotten to meet the others properly, he would have loved Vitus, but dwelling on those memories was an unthinkable situation from even weeks before.

 

If he was going to do this, it had to be now.

 

“Can I kiss you?” Dorian asked, mirroring Bull’s words the first time he had asked, seriously asked, rather than the crude flirting.

 

“Yeah,” Bull breathed, and Dorian wondered if Bull had been waiting for him to ask as long as Dorian had wanted to, if Bull had missed him as much as he’d missed Bull. Dorian moved, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

 

“There’s a condition,” Bull said carefully, the same voice he had used to lay out the rules to Dorian.

  
Dorian swallowed, and waited.

  
“You have to promise you’re doing this because you want to, not because you owe me. You want to stay here, and never have sex again, that’s fine. You want to move in with the Chargers, that’s fine too, whatever you want, but I need you to want it. We can take it as slow as you like.”

 

“I want it, more than anything,” Dorian admitted in a whisper, and it took all of Dorian’s self-control not to close the gap between his lips and Bull’s.

 

“Promise?” Bull asked.

 

“I swear.” Dorian said, and Bull was kissing him, pulling him into Bull’s lap, arms around Dorian’s waist.

 

\---

 

Dorian woke up warm and pressed against Bull, muscles sore but generally feeling satisfied and warm. Bull’s bed was always warm, but it was different when Dorian’s bare skin was pressed up against Bull’s. He had missed this.

 

“How you feeling there, ‘Vint?” Bull asked, shifting a little to look at Dorian.

 

“Wonderful,” Dorian said, giving an exaggerated stretch, enjoying Bull’s eyes on him.

 

“I was disappointed when you said you wanted to end things,” Bull admitted. “I was enjoying our time together.”

 

“So was I.” Dorian sighed, “but I didn’t want you to get hurt.” Bull smiled lopsidedly, and pulled Dorian in for a hug.

 

“But, I like this better.” Bull kissed Dorian’s nose. “I like getting to see this part of you, happy and calm, as well as needy and writhing in my bed.” Dorian swallowed back an endearment he was sure he would regret, not wanting to ruin the fleeting perfection of the moment. “It’s good to have you back,” Bull said.

 

“It’s good to be back.”

 

Bull kissed him again, slower and deeper.

 

\---

 

It was nice to have a cat to sit with him while he worked again.

 

Unlike the other cats, Dandelion didn’t wonder far, staying were Dorian could keep an eye on him, and stop him from bumping into too many things. Dorian had a book open on the table, and Dandelion was curled up on his lap, one paw digging uncomfortably into Dorian’s crotch, but the cat had yowled the last time Dorian had tried to move him, and he didn’t want another glare from the librarians.

 

He had carried Dandelion past where he had burned the cats on the way to library. He had long since lost any shame in talking to the cats like they were people, so he quietly told Dandelion about the others which he yawned and squirmed in Dorian’s arms to make himself more comfortable. Dorian had laughed softly, informed Dandelion that Atia would have thought very little of him, and soon would have had the pitiful cat under her paw.

 

Dorian petted Dandelion behind his ears as he worked, smiling at the soft wheezing from the cat reminding him he wasn’t alone.

 

He reached across the desk for a book balanced on a pile on the far side. He had to strain to reach it, unable to stand up and disturb Dandelion, and he fumbled at the last second and it tumbled to the ground, lying open, spine bending. He sighed, and wrapped his arms around Dandelion, accepting he would have to move the cat after all, but before he could rise a group a pair of scouts walked past the alcove.

 

They were deep in conversation and not paying much attention to anything else, which meant it was hardly a surprise when one of the women’s feet came down on Dorian’s book. The woman cursed, looking down to see what she had stepped on, and looked up and made eye-contact with Dorian. There was a second when they just stared at each other, and then she jerked her head away, running to catch her friend. She very deliberately stepped on the book again as she left.

 

Dorian sat frozen in his seat, his hands too tight around Dandelion. His chest was tight and his breathing was coming too quickly. He stood up, hauling Dandelion up into his arms and left, leaving the book on the floor.

 

\---

 

Bull found him hours later sitting on the floor of the storage room, dried tear tracks on his checks, Dandelion on his lap.  Just like before, Bull waited to be invited in, and then settled on the ground next to Dorian.  The room was empty now, Bull had gone to collect Dorian’s things, and apparently cleared out the empty bottles; Dorian hadn’t been back since Bull had convinced him to leave in the first place.

 

Dorian tucked himself under Bull’s arm, letting out a soft breath when Bull kissed the top of his head. Bull was silent, waiting until Dorian was ready to talk, and Dorian wished he wouldn’t, that he would ask questions, and force Dorian to answer.

 

“I’m overreacting,” Dorian said at last.

 

“You said that last time,” Bull reminded him.

 

“Someone stepped on one of my books.” Dorian waited for Bull to tell him that it was just a small thing, and not worth getting this upset over, but the judgement never came. No one had given him trouble since Bull had gotten back, probably because he hadn’t been alone as much, and because he knew Sera and the Chargers had started making it clear they weren’t going to let anyone.

 

Krem had shown up with a black eye one evening, muttering about a training mishap, but by the end of the night, Dalish had confided in Dorian that Krem had overheard some soldiers calling Dorian a slut and plotting some petty act against him. Apparently the soldiers looked much worse than Krem.

 

Dorian had let himself believe that now Bull was back everything would magically be better, and the reminder that that was rarely how the world worked hadn’t been a fun one. The same self-loathing that had risen up every other time he had reacted to people being nasty to him was back. He was pathetic to let this upset him when everything else was going so well.

 

“Everything is so much better than it was even a week ago, I should hardly still allowing myself to get wound up over such small things.” Dandelion was nuzzling at his hand, and Dorian gave a very small smile in response.

 

“You don’t have to be grateful before people aren’t treating you as terribly as they used to,” Bull said, reaching over to stroke Dandelion with one large hand.

 

“People didn’t like me much in Tevinter either,” Dorian admitted, “but etiquette dictated nothing like this would happen. We all had to act like we were the best of friends while sneering at each other over our cups.”

 

Bull snorted. “Damned ‘Vints,” he said, kissing the top of Dorian’s head again. “You have plenty of people here who like you just fine. You should point out who stepped on your book to Sera and she’ll make sure they think twice about doing it again.”

 

“If I do that, people will think I’m just using her; people already say that about you.”

 

Bull shrugged. “Then they’re wrong.”

 

“It’s not that simple,” Dorian argued.

 

“Isn’t it?”  The question hung in the air.  “Come on, let’s get you and your mangy cat back to our room.” Bull climbed back to his feet, struggling a little to compensate for his bad knee. Dorian felt bed making him sit on the floor, and he would offer to massage it later. Dorian got to his feet with less trouble, though still some as Dandelion protested being moved, and wiggled in his arms.

 

Bull’s arm went back around his shoulder as he guided them out of the storage room and back to their bedroom.

 

They paused only briefly once outside so Dorian could steal a kiss.

 

\---

 

Dorian received a letter from Rilienus just over two weeks after Bull had found him in the storage room, which was long after Dorian had given up hope of getting a reply. He had been confused when the letter was handed to him, forgetting that he had even sent a letter in the first place.

 

It was neatly sealed and on good paper, which lifted Dorian’s heart immediately. Dorian had seen Rilenus’ attempts at writing when he wasn’t sober and it looked nothing like this. Rilienus had been in a bad place when Dorian had left Tevinter, and Dorian had half expected him to have overdosed and died in some whorehouse somewhere.

 

The letter was careful not to say too much, and risk placing himself in a difficult position should the letter be intercepted, but for Dorian, who knew Rilienus well, it said enough.

 

_I was grateful to hear from you again, I feared that after our parting, and your journey south and my own journey to less savoury places still, that I might never have the pleasure of reading your particular turn of phrase again. I hope that life has offered you the same second chance it has offered me, though my wife assures me it must be at least my fourth or fifth chance._

_Fatherhood suits me, Dorian, and while I feared husbandry would not it would appear my wife and I were cautious for similar reasons. With that out in the open, and our duty filled in the delightful twin girls she bore me, I think we might be able to find marital bliss after all._

It went on to talk about more trivial things, never mentioning exactly what had cause him to stop himself from drinking himself to an early grave, but sounded cheerful enough that Dorian was hopeful it was for good this time.

 

He spoke of some minor scandals involving people he had Dorian had used to know, and, because he knew Dorian well enough to guess at his homesickness, spent three paragraphs describing the weather in Minrathous and how the city was doing. Apparently construction on the new library, built into the ruins of a four hundred year old manor, was complete. 

 

Dorian wrote back eagerly, glad that Rilienus seemed to have pulled himself out of the gutters and his marriage might at least be a peaceful one. It was nice to have another friend in Tevinter he might talk to. He cared for Maevaris immensely, but she was several years his senior and their relationship was still adjusting to one of equals.

 

He also finally wrote back to his father. It was much harder than the letter to Rilienus, but he felt better for it. It was easier to feel safe talking to his father with so many miles between them. He also requested a book from the Pavus collection, one which Josephine had been unable to procure for him. It was perhaps a little rude to ask, but Dorian found he didn’t care.  After all, the book would be very useful to his research if Halward felt like parting with it.

 

The book arrived two weeks later, along with another letter from his father.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done :D. This has been quite the ride, both to write, and share, I'm so glad it resonated with so many of you. My friend and I have been jokingly discussing writing a series of "Dandelion Shorts" with tiles such as "The time Dandelion got his head stuck in an interesting hole" and "The time Dandelion had to have a bath, because dear Maker he smells." We'll see how it goes.
> 
> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments, and I hope the ending is to your satisfaction.

Dorian had stayed up later than he had intended.

  
Bull had been by hours before, distracting him from his work long enough to force some food into Dorian and to collect Dandelion, taking him back to their room. Dorian had promised he would be there soon himself, but then he had found a lead in the genealogy book he had received from his father three days before.

 

That discovery had led to another and before Dorian had realised, it was a few hours before dawn and he was still telling himself he would read just a little longer. It had been a while since he had experienced such satisfaction in his work, and he wasn’t going to pass up on the opportunity.

 

He had one finger marking his place on the page, while he scribbled notes with his other hand when a shadow cut off the faint light from the fires still lit in the library.  Only he and one of the tranquil still remained. Dorian barely noticed, he had his own candle after all, and didn’t need the light to work by, but when the shadow didn’t move, he looked up.

 

“You know,” the man drawled, a Marcher by the sound of it, “it seemed for a while that you had gotten the message and fucked off, but apparently you were just waiting for other people to come fight your battles for you.”

 

There were five of them. Two had the look of soldiers, one he recognised as a Templar, having seen her train with Cullen, and the two others were perhaps servants, or more soldiers, just out of their leathers. Dorian didn’t have his staff with him.

 

“We didn’t want to have to kill another poor animal you ensnared, so we thought this time we’d try delivering the message personally,” the Templar said, her lip curling.

 

Dorian’s blood ran cold. For a second he was terrified. These people had haunted him for months, made him afraid to sleep, made him consider going back to Tevinter. They had killed the only company he had, and he had built them up to monsters in his head. Then he remembered who he was, and the fear vanished.

 

He was a Pavus, and one of the most talented mages of his generation. He had faced far more intimidating foes than a group of cowardly, animal-murdering assholes.

 

“What’s the message?” Dorian asked, and he stood. His hand itched for a staff, but he had trained without one; he would just have to make sure he ended this quickly, before he exhausted himself.

 

“No one wants you here,” the first man said. “We don’t need blood mages corrupting Skyhold. Crawl back home before we make you wish you had.”

 

Dorian sneered; rage boiled just below the surface, he wanted to make these people suffer. “I’d like to see you try.”

 

Everything happened very quickly after that.

 

Dorian had experienced what the southern Templars were capable of before, so he knew who his biggest threat was. If she had been more skilled, she would have used a Smite on him the moment he had stood up, but she waited. Dorian managed to cast before she even raised her hands.

 

He hit her with a burst of lightning, and he saw the moment her limbs stooped responding and she stood, paralysed and useless. The others reached him before he had a chance to cast again, but none of them managed to threw a punch before a mind blast sent them all reeling backwards. Dorian pressed his advantage.

 

He grabbed one of the heavy books from the table, wanting to save his magic, and smashed it across the face of the closest man. Something cracked, and the man hit the floor. The three remaining hesitated, and Dorian almost laughed. They were surprised that he could defend himself. These people had terrorised him, justifying it by assuming he was some powerful blood mage, secretly manipulating members of the inner circle into letting him stay, but the moment they realised he wasn’t an easy target they paused.

 

They were cowards and Dorian was done letting them affect him.

 

One of the men finally acted, lunging for Dorian, pulling out a knife, but he didn’t even get close. Dorian cast again, throwing the man backward.  He went over the balcony, with a terrified cry. Dorian knew he should do something, but in the moment reason and bitterness argued he knew it was too late to stop the man’s fall.

 

There was a shout from below, unmistakeably Solas. Dorian reached the railing, sparing a moment to glance down below. Solas was only half on his feet, but had managed to cast a barrier around the man Dorian had thrown who had hit the ground, unharmed but clearly terrified. A dark, wet patch was spreading across his breeches.

 

“I didn’t realise the books were only practise and you intended to build up to throwing people at me,” Solas yelled up at him.

 

“They killed my cats,” Dorian snarled. There was a better, more descriptive explanation but he found himself unable to say anything else through his rage. He kept his eyes on the last two.

 

Solas paused for a moment, looking at the man still cowering on the floor. “Would you like me to keep him here while you address the others?”

 

Dorian felt a rush of gratitude towards Solas, and his brief display of camaraderie.

 

“That would be ideal, thank you,” he said. Dorian turned back to the others. The Templar’s fingers were starting to twitch as feeling slowly returned to her, but she was still mostly motionless. The one Dorian had hit with the book was on the ground, clutching at his face, blood dripping past his fingers. That left two standing, retreating slowly, not quite yet willing to run, but also unwilling to attack.

 

Dorian reached for his magic again, feeling the slight strain at casting without his staff. He went for ice this time, ready to take the choice of running away from them.  One of them squeaked in fear, almost falling over himself as he scrambled backwards.

 

“Dorian!”

 

Dorian dropped his magic instantly, spinning to see Josephine, still in her nightclothes, hurrying towards them; Helisma was next to her. Josephine took in the scene before her, and Dorian suddenly found himself feeling very much like when his father had caught him in their library past his bedtime. He shifted awkwardly.

 

“Lady Ambassador, this Maleficar attacked us! He tri-”

 

“Enough, we are not having this conversation in the middle of the library, and I certainly don’t intend to have it with everyone attempting to speak over each other. That being said, I do expect an explanation. If you would all be as kind to make your way to my office we will discuss this properly.” Her tone left no room for argument.

 

“There is one more down here.”

 

Josephine jumped, and then looked over the railing. She sighed, rubbing at her forehead. “Perhaps you had better come too, Solas.”

 

\---

 

The Templar and the man Dorian had hit with the book were sent to the healing tents to get looked over, and the man Dorian had thrown was excused to get himself a clean pair of trousers. This meant that only two of his attackers, Solas, and Helisma accompanied Dorian to Josephine’s office.

 

She instructed Dorian, Solas, and Helisma to wait outside, and the other two were sent into her office. She disappeared, only to reappear five minutes later, dressed, and her loose hair pulled up into a ponytail. She didn’t look nearly as put together as so normally did, but it was better than the white nightgown.

 

Helisma stood silently while they waited, as unconcerned as she ever was, and Solas sat down on a bench, losing his eyes; Dorian couldn’t tell if he was actually sleeping or just meditating. He couldn’t remain as calm and paced back and forth, wringing his hands anxiously.

 

He had no actual proof as to what they had done, and killing cats, while in bad taste, was hardly something that most would accept as a good reason for attacking five people, almost killing one. He had acted rashly, and now that he was being forced to examine his actions, he knew that.

 

“Did you go and get Josephine?” he asked Helisma, unable to stand the silence any longer.

 

“I did, I saw them approach you and threaten you, I believed the Ambassador would wish to be informed.”

 

“Thank you,” he said, because what else was there to say.

 

“You’re welcome,” she said, emotionless tone betraying that like most things she said, she said it because it was expected.

 

Dorian returned to his pacing.

 

When the door opened the man and women left without looking at any of those outside. Josephine stood in the doorway looking even more tired than before.

 

“Would you like some coffee?” She asked, closing the door behind them all. She settled behind her desk, drinking deeply from her own cup.

 

“I hope to return to bed after this, so no, thank you,” Solas said.

 

Dorian shock his head, coffee was the last thing he needed, he was already on edge.

 

“I’m sorry we have to do this,” Josephine said, “but I thought it best to deal with the problem before any of them had time to come up with a more cohesive excuse.”

 

“Excuse? You don’t believe them?” Dorian asked, shocked that his word was being taken over that of two southerners. But then, Josephine had never been anything but fair.

 

“Apparently, you are a blood mage, sacrificing small animals to feed you power, also Solas is secretly working with you, and Helisma is your thrall. Apparently, they saw you performing blood magic, but were afraid that we were all under your spell so confronted you themselves. When you found out you had been caught, you attacked them.” Josephine looked down at some notes she had taken as she spoke.

 

“That’s an impressive list of crimes,” Dorian said, risking a smirk.

 

 “It’s all rather ludicrous,” Josephine said dismissively. “If they had said you were stealing their wine, I might have believed them.” She met his gaze and returned the smile. “Would you like to tell me what actually occurred?”

 

“I was feeding some of the mousers,” Dorian said, embarrassed to talk about it with Josephine and Solas watching him.

 

“I remember, Leliana told me they were terrifying the birds, but you looked too fond of them for her to ask you to keep them away.”

 

Dorian gave a weak smile. “Yes, well. The people who I was disagreeing with tonight took issue with my presence as sent me a warning as to what would happen to me if I stay. This warning took the form of my cats’ body strung up in my room.”  Josephine let out a stronger curse than he expected from her, one hand covering her mouth, and when he glanced at Solas his eyes had narrowed. “Tonight, they made their identity known, and implied they intended to kill me, I merely defended myself.” Dorian stood up a little straighter. It didn’t bring his cats back, but it was nice to have gotten some revenge.

 

Josephine stared down at her hands, brow furrowed in thought.

 

“Excuse me.”  Everyone turned to look at Helisma.  “I can confirm that members of the Inquisition have been treating Lord Pavus very poorly. They have damaged his processions, spat at him, and I have overheard multiple people plotting to hurt him.” She said it all in the same monotone voice, but Dorian was so shocked she might as well as screamed it. How much did she see? He was so guilty of ignoring her, and apparently many others were too.

 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Josephine asked.

 

“I wasn’t sure you would be interested. Those in charge rarely are, when mages are being mistreated.” The whole room was silent as they took in that information, but she kept on talking. “It was only when I suspected violence might occur that I brought it to your attention.” 

 

“Could you identify some of them?”

 

“Yes, Lady Ambassador.”

 

“Good, that may wait until tomorrow. However, the matter at hand…” She paused again, deep in thought. “They threatened you, Dorian?”

 

Dorian hesitated. “Yes, in the message they left with my cats, and again tonight.”

 

“Do you have it?”

 

Dorian shook his head.

 

“Did anyone else overhear them threaten you?” She was making more notes on the page in front of her.

 

“I was under the impression that Helisma heard them?”

 

“No one will take the word of a tranquil over five regular humans, and I can’t punish them for killing cats, Dorian, no matter how much I want to. It will make the Inquisition look like a joke. However, if I can prove they threatened you…” She smiled sweetly. Dorian knew part of her skill was that people tended to underestimate her, but it was still shocking to realise he had done the same.

 

“I heard them,” Solas said suddenly. He had stood quietly up until that point, watching without contributing, and he still looked totally calm.

 

Josephine and Dorian both stared at him. Dorian knew there was no way he had heard, and he was sure Josephine suspected the same thing.

 

“Very well,” she said slowly, still calculating. “You would swear to that, Solas? I doubt it will come to that, but if it should?”

 

“Certainly,” he said.

 

Josephine sighed. “I can deal with this from here, I think the dungeons are the only suitable place for someone who threatened and attacked a member of the Inquisition. Should I need anything from any of you I will let you know. In the meantime, I think we can all return to bed.” She stood up, collecting her notes into a neat pile. She patted Dorian’s shoulder as she passed, holding the room open for them all. As soon as they were outside she locked the door and rushed back towards her bedroom. Helisma and Solas both made to leave.

 

“Thank you,” Dorian called after Solas, for once choosing to just be polite.

 

“I have many issues with you,” Solas said, turning to look at Dorian, hands clasped behind his back. “But they have been acting unacceptably, not only to you but many of the servants. I am happy to have a chance to see them face justice.”

 

“Even if you had other motives, I’m still grateful.” Dorian worked to keep the frustration out of his voice; was it impossible for Solas to just take what he said at face value?  Solas nodded and then disappeared down the corridor, back towards the Rotunda.

 

Dorian didn’t follow him. His work could wait until the morning.

 

\---

 

Dandelion was asleep between Bull’s horns when Dorian reached their room. He was rolled over onto his back, four legs splayed in seemingly random directions, and snoring softly.

 

“Hey, Dorian,” Bull said, voice heavy from sleep. He lifted his head carefully so as not to disturb the cat. “Interesting night?”

 

Dorian laughed, feeling lighter than he had in months. He undressed quickly, only making the barest effort to fold his clothes over the back of a chair. “I’ll tell you in the morning,” he promised, leaning over to kiss Bull before settling against his side.

 

“Whatever you want,” Bull murmured, already half way back to sleep.

 

\---

 

The Tavern was loud, warm, and full of people. The Chargers had, as usual claimed a table at the back, and while almost anyone was free to join them, meaning it was very crowded, Bull had saved Dorian a seat, and Sera and claimed half of it. Dorian was squashed between the pair, with no elbow room, laughing as Rocky finished the story of how he had lost his eyebrows in the few hours since dinner. Sera nudged him as she laughed, and Dorian almost spilt his beer all over himself, but only elbowed her in return. 

 

Things were improving, gradually, and Dorian might, if pressed, even consider admitting that he was happy.

 

The Inquisitor had agreed with Josephine’s assessment of the situation regarding Dorian’s attack, and had given her leave to deal with the situation as she felt necessary. If other people had suddenly found themselves with extra, rather unpleasant duties, then Dorian could honestly say he had had nothing to do with. Helisma had a good memory for faces, and it turned out Dorian was not the only person she had witnessed being tormented, and Josephine had meant it when she said she intended to look into it.

 

She was subtle, as was often her way, dishing out small punishments for things that couldn’t actually be considered crimes. If any one of them realised why they had been saddled with latrine duty, none of them complained.  There was something very satisfying about seeing the assholes who had taken advantage of Dorian’s isolation, and the vulnerability of others for the own amusement, cleaning up shit.

 

It didn’t fix everything, but it helped.

 

Dandelion was on the tavern table among the mugs, being spoiled by anyone could reach him. He seemed pleased by all the people stretching to stroke his belly and lay there purring under the attention. He was there because he had recently decided he could jump between the bed and the vanity, despite only having a success rate of approximately fifteen percent, if Bull was to be believed. Until he had learned that this was really not a good idea for a cat with no depth perception, and even less common senses, Dorian was unwilling to leave him alone, lest he hurt himself or Dorian’s make-up.

 

Stitches, who was on Sera’s other side stood to go get another round of drinks and Sera moved into the space, twisting to put her feet up onto Dorian’s lap.

 

“Seems your cat’s more popular that you,” Krem called across the table to Dorian. Dandelion was out of his reach but he was watching the cat closely, smiling when he did something particularly cute.

 

“Harding certainly seems more interested in him than in you,” Dorian called back.

 

“You could say she likes Dorian’s pussy more than yours!” Sera said, cracking herself up, even as Dorian sighed. Beside him, Bull let out a loud ‘ha’ of laughter.

  
“You are all terrible,” Dorian informed them.

 

“Aww, that’s fucking sweet, Fancy-Pants.”

 

“He’s very sweet,” Bull said beaming down at Dorian who rolled his eyes, turning his attention to Varric, who was starting a new story. Varric made it half way through before Bull knocked Dorian’s foot with his own under the table.

 

“Why don’t we take off?” Bull asked, leaning close, breath warm against Dorian’s ear. “I have some new rope I thought we could try. I’ll tie you up and eat you out until you beg, but you won’t be able to do anything to make me go faster.” Bull’s arm wrapped around Dorian’s waist, hand sliding over the top of his arse. “What do you say?”

 

“Sera, would you mind looking after Dandelion tonight?” Dorian asked, already moving her feet from his lap.

 

“Why would you-” her eyes lit up in realisation. “Ugh, gross. Fine, but you owe me.”

 

“Thank you, Sera,” he said as he shuffled past. Bull ruffled her hair, and she squawked though his efforts made little difference. Someone whistled as they left, but it came from the Chargers’ table so Dorian didn’t even turn.

 

As soon as they out in the night air, Dorian shivering as the cold hit him, Bull scooped Dorian up into his arms. Dorian squirmed and put up the expected amount of resistance but settled quickly, twisting to kiss Bull properly. Something about being with Bull made him feel untouchable, in a way that nothing to do with Bull’s size and willingness to punch anyone who hustled them, and it made Dorian daring.

 

A passing soldier snorted at the sight of their awkward kiss, but Dorian threw him a rude gesture over Bull’s shoulder but didn’t break the kiss for several more seconds.

 

“You doing good there, Kadan?” Bull asked, smiling down at him.

 

“Wonderful,” Dorian informed him, still surprised to find he meant it.


End file.
